


Mist

by 0KKULTiC



Series: We Would Be Savage [8]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: AlienPrince!Mingi, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, BoyfriendMaterial!Jongho, Captain!Hongjoong, College, Cyborg!Yeosang, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Fighting, Fights, FirstMate!Wooyoung, Flashbacks, Gun Violence, Human Trafficking Mention, M/M, Memories, Nudity, Outer Space, Past Relationship(s), PilotHybrid!Yunho, Police Brutality, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Siren!San, Slow Burn, Space Pirates, Steam Punk Aeshtetics, University, Violence, WhyIsHeHere!Seonghwa, bullet wounds, cw: brief het content, part of a series, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 59,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23275924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC
Summary: Nothing can last forever, and while ATEEZ has cruised through the stars on dumb luck and petty theft, even that can't last for long. A ship has certain needs to run. It needs fuel and its crew needs resources - anything from soap to food. And in order to get that?Money.The captain decides to oblige the crew's recommendation to make a pit stop. And so, ATEEZ's crews find themselves on a planet called Pomsch in the grand, old city of Latunvor. Trolleys and trails overlap, stacking high into the sky, weaving between wrought structures of brass and copper. In the mesh mess of machinery lies a prestigious university, and with a transient population comes transient work.They're the ones getting paid. But when it comes to dishonest work, there's always a price.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Lee Chaeyeon, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: We Would Be Savage [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1339036
Comments: 438
Kudos: 658
Collections: We Would Be Savage: The Treasure Room





	1. Chapter 1

Hongjoong glances out the window dazedly. Stars swim by the viewing window, lazy and distant. The captain sits still, thinking. He always thinks. Thinks, thinks, thinks, thinks. That’s the problem with idle time. He has an abundance of it, and no matter how much he tries to busy himself it almost always ends up being aimless. His mind takes advantage of the vulnerability and leads him down a winding path. 

All too often, he finds himself lost, trapped. Overanalyzing, overthinking to the point of mental fatigue. Anxiety creeps beneath his skin. He can’t place why.

No, that’s a lie.

He knows exactly why, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Acknowledgement is a pitfall that will only lead to more thought, more contemplation, beating a dead horse and dragging up remorse. Every time he pictures that moment, it sends him reeling. He always goes back to that face.

Wet, blue eyes, questioning, pleading, teeming with vulnerability. Silently begging for a shot - just one shot - at something else for himself.

He hasn’t made such a show of emotion ever since.

Hongjoong is perfectly fine with that. In truth, it’s a relief. He’s not sure he could tolerate some “new”, emotional Park Seonghwa. No, the ex-PO is very much the same. He’s broody and quiet, keeps to himself if he’s not clinging to Yeosang. Joong’s fairly certain he can count the words they’ve exchanged on one hand. Shockingly, none of them have been fueled by hate or delivered with vitriol.

That’s probably the most surprising part of it all. How damn civil he can be. Turns out the blond bastard  _ was  _ taught manners and knows how to use them. He never embellishes, but he is pretty polite. What weirds Hongjoong out the most is that it’s  _ not _ weird. He expected profound discomfort, insults and possibly explosive arguments. Instead, it’s like he welcomed a ghost onto his ship.

_ “Beep! Beep! Beep-!” _

Joong gasps, taken aback by the sudden trill of an alarm, “Oh- shit-” He slides his chair over and paws at the console on the desk, dismissing the infernal alarm. 

Finally, he thinks, a real distraction. No, not a distraction, he reminds himself. A legitimate and crucial piece of ATEEZ business. Per the suggestion of his crew, Hongjoong decided to implement compulsory ship meetings a real part of their (very loose, erratic) schedule. They tend to scatter during idle time, and he figures it’s a good idea for everyone to get on the same page. 

While he informed everyone of the time, he imagines his crew is probably distracted. It  _ is  _ their first ship meeting. Structure during the offtime is unprecedented. Hongjoong would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little apprehensive. What if his crew doesn’t like the idea of being told what to do? What if they don’t want to respect their captain’s orders? He feels a pressure he didn’t feel before, but at the same time, he knows that this is for the good of his ship. They can’t just operate as a bunch of random misfits floating in space forever. The crew has already witnessed the unfortunate result of unresolved tensions left to fester.

The captain hoists himself off of his chair and drops his blanket cape. He fumbles through his scant wardrobe for something less pajama-esque. Given their circumstances, nobody has a substantial amount of clothing save for Yeosang. They all sort of mix and match, pulling from one another’s personal stash, wearing what approximately fits. It’s not unlike how he grew up, so Joong doesn’t mind it terribly. At least, he doesn’t normally mind it. There’s an increased pressure knowing he’s going to be addressing and leading his ship in a somewhat formal capacity. He starts agonizing over things that used to be inconsequential, wondering if he’s got too many earrings in or if his old junker denim is too frayed.

After staring at his closet like a dullard for nearly fifteen minutes, Hongjoong resigns himself to wearing the same shit he always does. His crew will respect him no matter what, anyway! He reminds himself of that time and time again as his toe pokes through a rip in his pants. Once he’s finally put himself into a state of relative respectability, the captain sets off to gather the ranks of his crew.

The muted thrum of ATEEZ's engines echo through the metal of the walls as Hongjoong makes his way toward the kitchen. It's actually quite shockingly quiet. Typically, the second one steps out into the general area, commotion can be heard even at the very ends of the hall. ATEEZ's crew, for the many things it is, is not quiet. Wooyoung's got a squeaky laugh that carries across half the ship, and even without meaning to, San's siren trill bounces from wall to wall, making everyone's ears ring. Not now, though. Given their loose schedule, many members of the crew adopted something like a midday nap, and it seems like Hongjoong's inadvertently planned his meeting around one of those times.

Hongjoong happens upon Mingi first. The Venusian sits at the kitchen table, writing something down in a journal he'd bound himself with spare wire. Joong never knew the other to be so inclined to such handy work, but the more time he spends around his crew, the less confident he is that he truly knows them. He keeps discovering little things about each and every one of them. 

"Journaling again?" Hongjoong approaches Mingi with a smile. Part of him wants to peek, but he knows better than anyone the unspoken rule of "ask first". As a poet himself, he knows how mortifying it is for someone to just look at his work without invitation. The second someone says they make any kind of thing for a hobby, people always want to see it. He doesn't really talk about his hobbies for that precise reason, and he's always conscious of being a good, respectful captain and leader.

"Mhm," Mingi nods. He idly twirls the glass Coalition-issued pen he'd scrounged up from a desk drawer.

"I bet Yeosang could make you a little thingy to write on, y'know?"

"A thingy?"

"Yeah, like a holopad or something."

"Maybe," The Venusian shrugs, "But I like to do it the old-fashioned way, I guess."

Hongjoong chuckles, "You do a lot of stuff by hand back in Neith?"

"Nope," Mingi grins. "Not a fucking thing. Especially writing. It's too sloppy and disorderly. Shit, we'd have probably ruled the country without lifting a finger if we could... That's why it's nice."

The captain smiles at that. It's like Mingi's rebelling in his own way. Sometimes, Hongjoong is still afraid that Mingi sees ATEEZ as just that - a symbol of rebellion. A way to stick it to his parents, a childish noble's foray into living on the fringe just to spite the status quo before folding neatly back into it. But after what they've gone through, Hongjoong is pretty sure there's more to it than that. Somebody out for a quick thrill would've fled by now. Being captured by gangsters, chased by killer patrol bots, shut into decrepit mines... Yeah, no.

There's definitely more to Song Mingi than a disenchanted priss looking for an adrenaline rush.

But, even so, Hongjoong can't help wondering:

"Do you ever miss it, though?" The question slips out. He'd been thinking it but never truly dared asking. He presses his lips shut, a tinge of embarrassment tinting the tips of his ears.

Mingi's writing pauses, and his gaze falls. He lapses into contemplative silence for a moment before finally conceding with a nod.

"I do," He replies softly, eyes not leaving the paper. "I truly do. But- but that doesn't mean I want to leave!" He adds rushedly.

"I- I know," The captain rushes to quell the other's tension. "I know, and that's okay. Sorry to just- just ask that. I get it, though. I would miss home, too, in your situation."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about me. One day, I will go back. And when I do, I'd like to return with you guys."

"I don't know Venusian law, but I'm pretty sure we're, like, super wanted over there."

"I'll tell them not to shoot," Mingi replies with a laugh, mood lifted. "And, I dunno, hopefully I can be a living example that we don't have to completely isolate ourselves from the rest of the universe. Or something." He shrugs.

"Well, whatever you choose to do, we'll stand by it. Wait- An addendum to that: I'll stand by you, but if you hurt Yunho-"

"Captain-"

"-I will kill you."

"I would never!" Mingi pouts, obviously affronted. Of course nobody sets out to hurt their whatever-Yunho-is-to-him (lover, significant other, boyfriend - Joong doesn't know nor necessarily care to know intimately). However, people change, things happen, and life has to go on. Hongjoong grew up with Yunho, and while he supports his best friend, he can't help being just a little protective over the canis's heart.

"Okay, well, since we established that, meeting in ten over there!" Hongjoong points to the living area just down the steps where half the crew has already gathered.

"Yes, captain."

Hongjoong waves him goodbye (as if he's going far) and skips down the steps. A holochess board sits atop the coffee table, pieces spread across the checkered surface haphazardly. Joong never really got chess, and Yunho sure as hell never played it, either. But with the ample time on their hands between places, they've all found new ways to pass the tedium.

The canis sits on the floor at one side of the coffee table, brows knit together in concentration. Wooyoung and San sit opposite him on the couch. While Wooyoung is the picture of focus, San's focus is solely on the human next to him. The siren gazes at Woo intently as his fingers hover over the projected pieces. Just watching them makes Hongjoong's gut coil with tension.

They resolved things. They're fine now. He keeps telling himself this, but the facts do nothing to soothe his anxiety regarding the two. Their blow up was absolutely caustic, and he still feels guilty for not anticipating it. Every time he sees the two - even though they're nothing but comfortable and content around one another - he questions himself. Why didn't he see their meltdown coming? Why didn't he think of some solution? What if he had pried more? Would they have resented them? Could he have prevented the entire thing?

He supposes that the two had come out stronger in a way, but, in spite of their apparent resolution, something feels undeniably  _ off _ about it. The captain tries to shake the sensation off and greets the others.

"Ready for our meeting?" He asks.

"Hm?" Yunho rouses from his deep thought, tail wagging happily. "Oh, yeah. Yup. We're here all early and stuff, aren't we?"

"So are we gonna talk about the big, blond elephant in the room or what?" Wooyoung asks bluntly.

The captain's panic spikes at the mere mention of ATEEZ's newest crew member. He's been dancing around all things related to the blond since allowing him on their ship. Things regarding the Petty Officer - no, he reminds himself, he's not an officer anymore; things regarding the  _ prettyboy  _ have been fairly quiet. The captain is perfectly content to keep it that way. Nothing really needs to be discussed in his opinion. As a matter of fact, he'd be perfectly happy  _ not _ talking about the other. Ecstatic, even. The less mindspace he has to allocate to the blond, the better.

“This meeting is going to be an open forum for anyone in the crew to raise their major concerns.”

“Yeah, well, can I say I find his presence concerning?” Wooyoung responds.

“Woo,” Yunho chides the other softly. “The captain made his decision. We should trust him. _ I _ trust him.” Hongjoong’s stomach knots up at their comments. It’s no secret that his decision was controversial. 

He’d gotten pulled aside by half the crew just later that evening, all of them asking if he’s okay, if he’s lost his mind, if he’d gotten brainwashed, if he’s got some ulterior motive. He answered them all in a similarly clipped manner. Yes, he’s fine, no he hasn’t lost his mind nor has he been brainwashed and, no, he has no extra “motive”. Bringing the blond on ended up being the cherry on top of an emotional exhaustion sundae, and, after a while, Hongjoong dismissed questions and suspicious looks with “we’ll talk about it later”. The cognitive dissonance has been tugging him in opposite directions since. Oftentimes, he doesn’t even know why he did what he did. He tells himself it doesn’t matter - it’s done, after all. Until they land on their next planet, they can’t do anything about it. Even if they could, there’s no reversing it. He can’t go back to Tass and reject the other on the loading ramp. Even if Prettyboy had left two days later, the fact of the matter is: Hongjoong let him on. He accepted him, brought the other on as one of their own.

That’s going to stay with the captain and the crew forever. 

“Wha- I do- I do trust you, okay, captain? Which is why I really want to know why he’s here?”

“I didn’t think you minded that much,” Hongjoong responds, pressure and heat now painting his face red. “You said he saved your ass back in the mines.”

“Yeah, okay, so he did, but- but that doesn’t mean I want to see him brushing his teeth in the morning! I just- I don’t trust him.”

The captain nods warily, “I know, Woo. I know. I don’t either, but…”

But what?

  
But  _ what _ ?

What can he possibly tell Wooyoung to quell his reservations? How can he explain himself to his first mate when he can’t even sort it out for himself?

“Everyone chose to be here for a reason,” Hongjoong says. “We just don’t know his yet.” It’s the most honest answer he can provide. After all, it was the former blackcoat who approached  _ him  _ \- not the other way around. Never in a million years would Hongjoong have invited the other onto ATEEZ. But, the blackcoat laid down his pride - hell, he laid down his entire life as he knows it - just for a chance at the Treasure. That has to mean something. Hongjoong doesn’t know what, but it’s not a decision anyone would make lightly. Much less him, the conniving shit.

Wooyoung frowns, “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. He bled black just days ago, and now he wants to play nice?”

“I’d hardly say he’s playing nice,” Yunho interjects with brows raised. “He’s toeing the line enough not to get his ass kicked.”

“Okay, point is, I just don’t buy that he’s, like, reformed or some shit. It doesn’t add up.”

“You’re free to speak to him personally,” Hongjoong posits. He’s starting to get annoyed, irritated that Prettyboy’s been the topic of conversation for more than fifteen seconds. “Listen, I don’t like the guy either, but I’m not gonna have you making our meeting a spectacle because you want to accuse him of some treacherous shit. At least have proof to back it up if you wanna put him on trial.”

Wooyoung holds his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender, “Yeah. Right. Got it. I mean- I agree. I don’t wanna cause a scene.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m keeping my eye on him,” Wooyoung asserts.

“And that’s what makes you such a good first mate,” Joong ruffles the other’s hair with a smirk. “Okay, stay put. I’m gonna gather the rest of the ranks. Are they all downstairs?”

“I think Jongho’s taking a nap,” Yunho responds. “I can get him if you want.”

“Oh, that’d be awesome.”

“I’ll grab everyone else,” The captain replies. He saunters off, purposely slowing his walk to near crawl speed just to put off going down. Using the process of elimination, deductive reasoning and general logic, Hongjoong knows Yeosang is downstairs at his workstation. Probably tinkering with some project to make their lives better. And, wherever Yeosang goes, a certain someone follows.

Hongjoong frowns, his gut and heart switching places as he steps through the door. It slides shut behind him with a soft noise, leaving him with nowhere to go but down the steps. Faint chatter echoes up to the top. From his position, he can see the open bay, nothing but unoccupied cargo space save for one corner. 

The captain’s eyes narrow at the sight of the pair. They’re huddled awfully close. Even though they are (or at least were) alone, their discussion is so hushed that Hongjoong can’t make out any of it, even in the echoey metal chamber of the loading bay. Yeosang murmurs to Prettyboy, expression earnest and almost intense. The blond nods receptively.

  
Receptively?

_ Him _ ?

The captain takes one step at a time, keeping it slow and quiet. Though the thud of his boots on the bianitic steel echo across the lower level, the other two are completely oblivious. Annoyance drives into Hongjoong’s chest at the sight of it. He adores Yeosang, and he doesn’t completely trust Prettyboy. What’s Prettyboy got on Yeosang? Has he been bullshitting the cyborg the entire time? Trying to align himself with the smartest one to propel nefarious plans? But, then again, Yeosang is almost impossible to bullshit. He’s smart and perceptive. He’d see through blondie in an instant.

So… What?

Are they friends or something?

Yeosang is also an incredibly kind, sweet soul. Hongjoong rolls his eyes just thinking about it. Figures the guy with an exterior fabricated from scrap metal has the softest core of them all. Of course he’s the one to let the ex-blackcoat in. He always expressed sympathy for the other even when he was behind bars. But why? Hongjoong wishes he could shake the other and tell him he really doesn’t have to be so nice all the damn time. It makes him  _ frustrated  _ \- on the other’s behalf.

The captain somehow evades notice until the very last step. His boot hits the last metal stair, the dull, metallic thud resounding throughout the entire bay. Then, radio silence. As if rehearsed, the two at the workstation immediately go quiet. Two pairs of wide eyes fall upon the captain, and with it the nerves churning in Hongjoong’s guts go haywire. He tenses immediately. For the briefest of instances, he wonders if he’d done something wrong. 

Why are they acting like he interrupted something?

What if he had?

Hongjoong almost faints at the trajectory of his thoughts, and he quickly pulls himself together before his perverse imagination can embellish his anxiety-fueled visions.

“Hey,” The captain tries to act nonchalant, leaning against the stairs’ railing Yeosang raises his brows inquisitively. The other just stares. Hongjoong tries to ignore the set of cerulean eyes boring into him like drills and speaks (addressing the cyborg moreso than the blond). “It’s almost meeting time.”

“Oh, wow. Already?” Yeosang replies.

“Yeah. Sorry if I, um, interrupted. Something. What are you- um- what are you working on?”

“Ah,” A little grin crosses the cyborg’s lips. He lifts his hand in front of his face and makes a fist. A soft _ “shink” _ sounds out, and a tiny glint of light flashes. Where there had been nothing before, a blade protrudes from the cyborg’s wrist. Unlike the one before that had been more of a traditional straight dagger, the one he’s showing off is crescent shaped, curving away from his wrist before coming back an and tapering to a fine point.

“Oh- Oh wow!” Hongjoong gasps, stepping forward to get another look.

“Yeah,” Yeosang beams proudly. “Wrist blade version two. A complete redesign.” He clenches both of his fists and throws a few punches in the air. “This is so much more practical. Better in hand to hand combat with less risk of, well, stabbing me in the face.” He pantomimes going in for a punch then pivots his arm, thrusting his elbow forward in a motion that makes his wrist naturally swipe across the make-believe target.

Hongjoong gives him a few seconds of congratulatory applause. It’s a clever design. He would expect nothing less of Yeosang. Though, the captain can’t help wondering why the cyborg needed a buddy. He doesn’t really see how the other would be very helpful given that Yeosang is a genius with no apparent need for hair tips.

“It’s cute,” Hongjoong compliments the other. Yeosang chuckles sheepishly. His hand reflexively moves to scratch his nape, but he flinches just in time. “Yeah, let’s not behead ourselves today, Yeosang.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” The cyborg jokes. “I could probably put my head back on.”

“I… Honestly, part of me thinks you could.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh- I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You really shouldn’t have. Now I’m gonna be up all night thinking about it.”

“Alright, well, that’s great. So glad for you. But! For now, it’s meeting time,” The captain says, looking pointedly at the other’s wrist blade. Yeosang pouts and retracts it. “To the living room, then?”

“Yes, Captain,” Yeosang responds. 

Hongjoong turns on his heel and leads the other two back up the steps. He doesn’t check to see if Prettyboy tagged along. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t care, but the truth is he doesn’t need to. 

He can feel the other’s gaze delving into his back.

* * *

Hongjoong scans the living room for a mental headcount.

On the couch, Wooyoung and San cuddle up while Jongho’s the unfortunate buffer body betwen them and Yeosang. Yunho and Mingi brought over chairs from the kitchen, and the platinum blond sits on the floor in front of Yeosang. Everyone is present and accounted for.

Good.

That’s good.

This is good.

This is what Hongjoong wanted. This is what they all wanted, what they need, and what they deserve.

It is also excrutiatingly painful.

The awkwardness fills the room like a thick smoke. There are stares - a lot of them. Every single one is fixed on a single point, ATEEZ’s newest addition to the crew. Some gawk shamelessly, a couple glare menacingly, and the few with tact have the courtesy to at least intersparse their staring with a glance at the ground. The tensity in the air fills Hongjoong’s lungs and balloons in his throat. It makes just  _ thinking  _ about speaking difficult. He’s afraid he’s going to choke on his words or blubber out utter nonsense and lose the respect of his crew.

A few minutes pass, and things get worse. All the stares that had been directed to the ex-blackcoat start to fall on the captain. That’s when Hongjoong knows he has to do something. He’s the one that asked everyone to be there, he’s been talking up their meeting to be something official and important. Now he has to actually own it.

But where does he even start?

He goes through different greetings in his head. There’s “hi” and “hello”. Is that too informal? “Greetings” comes off as a bit verbose. He could thank them for being there, he supposes, but that’d be kind of stupid considering they all fucking live there. He suddenly feels completely unprepared, and anxiety starts squeezing inside his chest.

“Okay, let’s start,” Hongjoong throws the words out there - more for himself than the others, really. It works, though - short and to the point, he manages to pull everyone’s attention and quiet the mumbled conversations. “As you all know, we’ve never done this before. So, uh- I guess I will call into order ATEEZ’s first official meeting. I-I’m sure one day we’ll all look on this fondly and laugh about it or something.” He chuckles nervously.

Yunho, Wooyoung and San immediately respond with big smiles and applause, making the captain’s cheeks swelter with flushed embarrassment. He has to cover his face for a second to compose himself, not sure if he’d rather throw himself into the vacuum of space or throw them into it. 

“Stop- Stop,” Hongjoong laughs. He appreciates their overenthusiasm. As dumb as it is, his chest doesn’t feel as heavy in lieu of their antics. “Okay, um, seriously. I- Obviously we know this isn’t a very  _ formal  _ thing. But, we are still seven- um-  _ eight  _ people who work together and live together. I’m not the only one who’s been thinking we should talk about some things. I want us to have an assigned time to speak openly about our concerns and get up to date on any relevant developments in our journey. Hell, just even stuff we worry about day to day life like- like keeping our supplies healthy. Celebrating a birthday. I dunno”

  
He ventures a glance at the others, making sure they’re still on the same page. He finds it simultaneously fortunate and unfortunate that all eyes are still on him. While he’s still got their focus, he continues.

“So, um, I guess I could start with ship updates. We’ve got our next beacon located but have been unsuccessful in conclusively charting any more stops. We’ve got two more day cycles before jump in order to preserve resources and fly under the radar. I’m hopeful, though. The Compass works in mysterious ways. It always comes through when we least expect it. But, uh, anyway I can’t say I have any pressing concerns. So, I guess I’ll open it up if anyone has anything to say.”

A few of the more tenured crew members exchange looks.

“If anyone has anything relevant, constructive and  _ productive  _ to say,” The Captain tacks on. That discourages a few of them. Not San, though. He glances at the others, making sure nobody else is going to speak before saying his piece.

“Captain, I know we don’t have strict policies, but I’m curious let’s say, in a rhetorical situation, we got into a fight. Would you break it up? Or do you prefer that we settle things among ourselves?”

“I- I’m sorry?” Hongjoong tries not to let on just how fucking flabbergasted he is by the question. He blinks confusedly, coughing out his response, “San I don’t want any of my crew fighting. Ever.”

“But if we were, hypothetically, would you intervene?”

“Wh- Me? As in, literally me?”

“Well, are others obligated to intervene?”

“I- Yes, I would hope anyone standing by would intervene,” He furrows his brows sternly at the others.

“If I may: in my culture, everything is solved in combat,” San says coolly. Like he’d just told Hongjoong that he likes gardening.

“Is it?”

“Yes. Major conflicts between parties are actually mediated through ritual combat,” San delivers the fact with such casual assurance that Hongjoong is convinced that it’s true. What little he knows of siren culture aligns with San’s fun fact. Given that they waterboard people on sight, it surprises him less than it ought to that the sirens literally fight about everything.

“I think it’s really interesting that sirens have managed to integrate combat arts so- so heavily into their society. We are not all sirens, though. While it’s conflict resolution for you, fighting is the result of pure malice between most humans. I don’t want anything to escalate to that level on this ship. Sparring is fine, but I’m not just going to stand by if you fight people!”

The siren’s gaze drifts over to the blond on the ground. Prettyboy sits quietly in a proper position, back straight and hands on his knees. His fingers fidget slightly, and his eyes flit nervously between the ground and the general vicinity of the captian. He doesn’t dare look directly at him.

“If I feel I’ve been wronged, you’re telling me I can’t do anything about it?”

"I'm telling you that you can work it out with words, not fists," The captain tries to keep his voice level and calm. "If you need someone to mediate, we can arrange it." The captain hears a soft snort from someone on the couch, but he doesn't bother trying to see who did it. His cheeks swell with another burst of heat nonetheless. "Understood?"

San's lips form into a displeased pout, but he nods in accordance regardless of his apparent opposition. A couple of the others join the siren in his half-assed affirmation.

"If  _ I  _ may," Mingi clears his throat. Hongjoong raises his brows at the other, wondering what the Venusian has to say. "Though I know we don't have any written policies of any kind, should we maybe... Write down the rules?"

That catches the captain by surprise. He never thought of them as needing rules; nor did he think Mingi would be the one to propose such a thing. In a way, it  _ is _ fitting - the former noble is probably used to rules and rigidity. Though he risked himself to break away from the confinements of palace life, it's understandable that he still retains some preference for the lifestyle he led there. It's not a terrible point, either. How can someone enforce rules that aren't tangibly agreed upon? If it's all just verbal agreements, someone could easily claim that what had been discussed was something entirely different than reality.

But, still, written rules?

The thought irks Hongjoong. It's so... Formal. So blackcoat. Rulebooks seem more Prettyboy's speed, and the thought of being even remotely like that pompous jackass irks Hongjoong to the core.

The captain shakes his head, "Why don't we lay down verbal guidelines for now? I trust all of you to abide by them. A few of you have experienced what happens when you step out of line." He looks pointedly at Wooyoung and San.

"Right," The Venusian nods. "Well, even if it's just discussed can we establish a 'no prejudice' policy?"

"Uh, no prejudice? Does that really need a rule? I mean, we're all decent people. Uh- Mostly. That’s common courtesy."

The usually companionable Venusian wraps an arm around Yunho's shoulders protectively, "I just want it to be very clear that mistreatment or inappropriate remarks regarding a person's race or other parts of them that cannot be helped are intolerable. Or am I to understand that we are going to accept-"

"Okay, okay. I- I understand," Hongjoong quickly tries to quell the other. Mingi's about as subtle as a Mysticeti class freighter in his attack. The captain entirely agrees with the sentiment, but he doesn't want any more attention given to the blond than necessary. "I completely agree. Like I said I would  _ hope  _ it's common sense. But in case anyone needs to hear it as our first 'official' rule: no digs on anyone's race, identity, circumstances or preferences. Got it?"

A few nods and hushed "mhm"s sound out in response. Hongjoong doesn't notice anything on part of the ex-blackcoat, but he doesn't really care, either. Though he told San that he would prefer a peaceful ship, if the guy says something out of line and gets his ass kicked... Well, a captain can only do so much. He can't possibly see  _ everything  _ that happens on the ship  _ all  _ the time (not unless he watches the security cams obsessively like some kind of voyeur - which he isn't).

"Captain?" Jongho chimes in meekly. "Can I propose our second rule?"

"Oh, sure. What would that be?"

"I think there should be some, uh, sanctions on public spaces."

"S-Sanctions?" Oh god. That's right. Public spaces. The memory of a poor, traumatized Jongho comes flooding back to Hongjoong, and he immediately looks to Yunho and Mingi.

"Yeah. You know. Just. No, I dunno, walking around naked, for example," The youngest posits diplomatically to start.

"What is wrong with nudity?" San asks, his expression one of genuine confusion.

"I'm with him," Woo adds with a smirk. While San is serious, Wooyoung definitely is not.

Hongjoong nods and rolls his eyes, ready to answer.

"I- Well, in my culture, where I come from, I- we just don't-" Jongho makes vague hand motions in an attempt to illustrate his point.

"It's simply skin over muscle and bone. There is nothing to be ashamed of," San replies.

"I'm with Jongho," Yeosang answers, nodding to Jongho. "It's weird."

"What? How is it weird? What's weird is you thinking it's weird!"

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, "For the sake of comfort, why don't we-"

"San, not everyone is as comfortable as you," Yunho tries diplomatically.

"Well maybe they should be," Wooyoung starts defending him more earnestly.

"I'm not saying you cannot wear clothing. But, given our limited supplies, it's not practical to wear so much clothing all the time!"

"I-" Yeo gasps. "That's actually a good argument..."

Hongjoong holds up a hand, "Okay, I- I think we can revisit this for sure. I'm not sure how productive-"

"Is it really sanitary to have bare skin all over the furniture?" Mingi asks.

The captain tries again, "Look, I think we should-"

"How sanitary is it to constantly snatch clothing from one another’s dirty pile?" San fires back. "Why must I compromise my comfort due to your human society's archaic modesty mores?"

"Archaic?" Mingi chuckles dryly. "Venus is archaic?"

"Hey- Hey, what's with the tone?" Woo butts in.

Hongjoong frowns, "Guys, maybe we should-"

"I'm just saying it's a bit ironic the siren's calling my people archaic-" "Excuse me? Didn't you jump off a building to avoid arranged marriage?" "Okay, let's- let's settle down-" "To be honest I don't like it but, like, nudity isn't that bad. I don't think." "I mean, it was an example... I just wanted to- to open a dialogue about what's appropriate-" "Oh, really? You're going to tell me this when you told me yourself that sirens-" "-suppose that cleaning clothes frequently is feasible, but if you want to be at the most optimal conservation wearing clothing less frequently could, in theory..."

If his face wasn't red before, Hongjoong is sure it's red now. His mouth flaps open and closed futilely. All he can do is sit back and watch helplessly while his crew bickers about fucking nudity. Hands throw up animatedly and fingers point accusingly as the rowdy lot assert their points on the arbitrary matter.

"-hy can't you just wear clothes in the common areas, then?" "I live here!" "So do I!" "Y'know, I think it's, like, totally fine either way." "To be frank I just wanted to use nudity to segue into, like, some other public decency matters-" "Until we supplement our wardrobes less may, in fact, be more..." "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jongho. I've seen you in the showers." "Okay that-! That should definitely be a- a rule-!"

Hongjoong never realized just how damn loud his crew can be. It's impressive, really. Sure, he knew they were loud but never before had it stricken him so acutely as it did in that very moment. While most of the crew is arguing over nudity, one person is very noticeably silent. Without meaning to, the captain's gaze drifts to the ex-blackcoat seated on the floor.

Hongjoong's heart stops when their eyes meet.

It's like the breath is robbed from his very lungs. He wonders if the other stares at him like that on purpose or if it's just the hue of his glacial blue eyes that lends them such intensity. The corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. For what? Hongjoong wonders. Does he really dare speak in front of all of these people who hate him? What would he say, anyway? Would he want to criticize them? Call them obtuse or doltish for arguing about nudity? Or perhaps he just wants to express contempt, hatred for the imbeciles he'd (for some unfathomable reason) opted to join.

What if it's mockery?

Another wave of shame-spiked heat washes over the captain as the others make a din. Hongjoong realizes: that's probably what it is - mockery. He's probably trying not to laugh, but it's not the antics of the crew he finds funny. It's the captain and his inability to control them, probably, that he finds so humorous. If he had the guts to actually open his fucking mouth, he'd probably say something derogatory and insulting to Hongjoong.

The captain feels a sweat coming on at the thought of the other laughing at him. No. No. No. Absolutely not. That's unacceptable. He can't tolerate the idea of the other undermining his authority, he just can't. It would be like proving every hateful, patronizing remark the other has ever said about him right. He can practically hear the other whispering in his ear: "You're not fit to be a captain. You can't even control your crew." It makes his hair stand on end to imagine it.

"Okay," Hongjoong says, tone clipped.

"-so stupid. It does not work like that. You can't just wear less clothing, like-" "Yes, yes you can-" "I do not care how much clothing others wear, it's about-"

"Hey," The captain says again.

"-Why don't we compromise and let, like, underwear be a thing-" "It's not fair that I should compromise. He can avert his eyes!" "Why are you so set on-"

"Hey, guys, that's enough."

"What if we do, like, nudity days-" "No bare asses on the couch. No bare asses on the co-"

"Hey! I said that's enough!" Hongjoong barks loudly. His voice finally manages to penetrate his crew's veil of stupidity, effectively shutting down the back and forth. They all halt, eyes wide and lips shut tight. The captain crosses his arms and speaks sternly. "We're shelving dress code issues until further notice. Got it?"

San frowns, "But-"

" _ Got it _ ?" Hongjoong hisses. The siren nods dejectedly. "Thank you." For some reason, Joong's heart still hammers against his chest. It's like even just that show of authority drove him to the edge of his nerves. He never aimed to be some gung ho commando type of leader, but even he has to acknowledge: it's necessary sometimes. "Now, if anyone has other concerns or proposals I will hear them-  _ however _ , if it devolves into bickering again I'll take any sort of collaboration over the rules off the table."

For a few moments, he's met with nothing but silence. A few awkward coughs and sheepish looks are all the captain gets. He notices that the blond's eyes have resumed burrowing into the floor. He's more than okay with that.

Once again, it's Jongho who breaks the silence. He raises his hand as if in school and answers when Hongjoong calls on him.

"Right, so," Jongho starts again. His thumbs twiddle and his pupils dart around the room.

He's nervous, and that sets off something on Hongjoong's radar. Jongho is never nervous. Their youngest tends to be the most composed of them all. He's not the anxious type. So, what's got him so genuinely flustered that he can't even look his captain in the eye? Hongjoong nods, urging the other to elaborate.

"This- this isn't related to, um, rules or policies or, uh, anything. Or maybe it is? I- I dunno-"

"Just. Just out with it, Jongho. It's fine. Say what's on your mind."

"Right. Y-Yeah, well," The youngest takes a deep breath before finally mustering the will to maintain eye contact. "I wanted to talk about the reality of our situation. The- the reality that is, well, that we're... We're getting low on resources. It might not seem like it now, but there's eight of us here. We need toilet tissue and soap. The food stores left by the Coalition aren't going to last us forever- and neither will our fuel cells. Hell, we need clothing. Don't think I don't notice the conspicuous bagginess of my black pants- somebody is stretching them out!"

Hongjoong nods receptively, taking it in. His stomach knots with nervousness. It's true. It's all true. Their resources are getting used up at an almost alarming rate. They’re a crew of eight now, and they're never going to  _ not _ need supplies. What the Coalition left can only take them so far. As is, Hongjoong has been agonizing over their inventory, counting and recounting, quietly taking smaller portions to give them just that much more wiggle room. They can't continue on as they are forever. Something's going to have to give. But what?

"Maybe most crucially: we're low on paper cash," Jongho continues. "Given our fugitive status, we can't keep a bank account, so we need the tangible stuff, too. Obviously, it does not pay well to be an outlaw."

"So, what?" San asks, brows furrowed. "Are you proposing we resort to other methods to get money? Seizing what we need by force or sleight of hand?"

Wooyoung shrugs, "There are plenty of corrupt moguls across the universe who wouldn't notice hundreds or even thousands of credits missing."

"We're not resorting to thievery," Hongjoong stops them there. He hears an airy chuckle that almost definitely belongs to a certain ex-blackcoat, but he opts to ignore it.

"I- I didn't mean to say we should steal anything," Jongho responds quickly. He continues his nervous proposal, "I took the liberty of scanning our trajectory, and I found a fairly prosperous settlement between us and our waypoint."

"A settlement?"

"Yeah. Um, Earth PL34919. Doesn't roll off the tongue very easily, but it's well known. At least, was where I grew up. It's civilized. Pretty old and established. Good infrastructure and civ for how remote it is. Its most famous city is called Latunvor. It's the capital of their largest continent, Pomsch. But, um, Latunvor's real draw is the massive university. It's a huge fixture in the city with, like, almost a hundred-thousand students who live on campus."

"Shitting christ," Hongjoong breathes out. "That's a city in itself."

"Yeah. It has its own area codes and law enforcement. I mean, the population includes post-certificate programs, professors and- it's not important. Anyway, I thought that- that- I dunno we could land there? Make a pit-stop?"

The captain bites his lip as he contemplates the option, "A big ass university sub-city... It's an established settlement, though. That means Coalition presence." His anxiety spikes at the thought of that. He can't help but glance at Prettyboy again. The other is far from having his full trust after all that they've been through. Even if he's certain he wants the Treasure now, what if seeing other uniforms around shakes him up? What if he snaps out of whatever spell he'd been under back in Tass? Before he can have a panic attack considering that possibility, Wooyoung responds.

"It's not a bad idea, captain," The first mate says confidently. "University towns bring in diverse, transient traffic. They're used to non-citizens, and there's a lot of work to be done. Temp jobs and stuff. All the university activity would make for good cover. We might be a pain in the GC's ass, but we're far from their biggest problem. Doubt we'll be household names anywhere. We could probably hide in plain sight. Find some quick work and then head out."

"We're fugitives,"  _ He _ speaks. The ex-blackcoat speaks! Joong damn near gasps in shock, but he stops himself. Prettyboy huffs, tone dripping with condescension, "How in the hell are we going to find honest work?"

Wooyoung snorts, "I never said it was gonna be honest work."

The blond gasps, his jaw dropping open in a manner so comical Hongjoong has to stop himself from guffawing.

The captain smirks, "Welcome aboard ATEEZ, Prettyboy. This is what you signed up for, remember?" He nods to Jongho, "I like the plan. I think it's a good move. We can get in, get money, and get on our way, yeah?" The others nod and murmur in agreement (save for the still shell-shocked blond).

"Okay. I know this might seem short, but I'm gonna adjourn our meeting here. Wooyoung, get the coordinates from our lovely Jongho and set our course. I wanna jump there, it should be short- right?"

Jongho nods, "Right."

"Good. I'll intercom docking when I've got a set time. Everyone else, get ready. Never thought I'd say this, but, hell: looks like we're going to college."

* * *

“Thank you,” The docking attendant says, counting the crisp bills Hongjoong handed to him.

“No, thank you,” Hongjoong nods, flashing the attendant a smile. They’d made it a point to park ATEEZ far out of the city - about an hour’s ride by electrolley. It’s a sleepy town that traces the eastern edge of the university city. They occasionally see some spillover residents, but from what they spotted up above, it’s mostly automated industry. Most importantly: it’s a quiet place where people take money without asking too many questions. All Joong had to do was fill out a paper - an actual piece of  _ paper  _ \- with some unverified identification info and model details about ATEEZ.

In spite of the desk attendant being the only other person present, the captain’s stomach perpetually tosses and turns. They’re on a genuine Earth transplant. One-hundred percent uncontested Coalition property. There are no trade deals or institutions cushioning them from the GC. If they fuck up, there’s only one governing body that’ll handle it, and it happens to be the one that’s got prices on their heads.

  
Well, on almost all of their heads.

Hongjoong’s gaze darts over to Prettyboy nervously.

He could singlehandedly undo all of them. All he would have to do is sneak away. One minute, maybe two tops, and he can at least make a call to the feds. With a solid location on ATEEZ’s crew, the Coalition would swiftly handle the rest. The ex-blackcoat insisted that he wouldn’t harm them, but that insistence doesn’t do shit to quell the captain’s concerns. 

He wonders if he’ll ever trust the other. 

Even if not fully, he hopes that one day he won’t feel inclined to watch the other like a damn hawk. Today is not that day, though. Today is certainly not that day.

Hongjoong casts a last look at his beloved ATEEZ in the fairly empty docking house. He made sure to tuck them in a corner, just close enough to a few other ships to divert attention, but not so close that it would draw the suspicion of the other crews. He hopes that the angle faces ATEEZ’s painted hull away from where most attention would be. It’d be bad if someone happened to hear the name on the news and connected the dots. (That is, if they’re on the news. Hongjoong isn’t too attuned to what’s hot and happening in the corrupted newswaves, but it’s better safe than sorry in his perspective.)

“Trolley station’s really close,” Wooyoung tells his captain, approaching Hongjoong’s side. “About a kilom away. No actual pedestrian path around these parts but we can follow the road. Doesn’t seem like a hotspot for traffic, anyway.”

  
“Sounds good. Thanks, Woo,” Hongjoong replies, flashing the first mate a smile.

The pair lead the rest of the crew out the rusty doors of the docking house. It lets out into a parking lot for hovercrafts and bikes, beyond which lies a narrow two-lane road. Hongjoong can smell the overgrown grass lining the deserted street. The fresh aroma mingles with the smell of wet asphalt and the remnants of a rainstorm in the air. For a second - just a single second - the pleasant atmosphere goes in through Hongjoong’s nose and sinks into his bones. Wind rustles the grasses, and his crew’s footsteps hit the pavement softly. His eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath. He savors that single second as if it could sustain him for a lifetime of contentment. 

As he exhales, the moment expires.

When he returns to reality, he can see the Latunvor skyline in the distance. It doesn’t even look like it belongs on the same planet as the deserted docking house they’d landed in. Lustrous, metal structures emerge from the surface of the horizon, towering so high that the low hanging clouds obscure them. What appear to be wires are chaotically strewn between them. Joong makes out a few large passenger ships lowering themselves between the massive buildings, but from the distance, he can’t see much else in the direction of the grand university city.

The crew follows a path of rubble between the road and the reeds, idle chatter echoing among them. In minutes, Hongjoong can see the electrolley station in front of them. Much like the docking house, it appears pretty worn, but unlike the docking house, its parking lot is full of vehicles of all make, size, and manner. Commuters, Hongjoong muses. He hopes that none of the rural types are too eager to ask questions. They can’t afford to slip up in a place like this. 

Cities like Latunvor are easy. They’re busy, bustling, overflowing with life. They’re packed to the gills, overfull to the point that their residents can’t be assed to question the outrageous. No doubt that level of ambivalence toward the unconventional is probably tenfold for a university area.

Cities are no problem for people like them.

It’s places like these - the places in between - that scare Hongjoong. These are the places where people are interested and they talk. These people have more to gain from needling the outsiders than those in the city. 

And ATEEZ’s crew has everything to lose.

The trip to the trolley station is quick. Soon enough, Hongjoong hears the telltale whir of the cars on their suspended electromagnetic track. He hadn’t even bothered checking the time before landing, but judging by the amount of people, it’s not a major commuting time.

The place is far from impressive. A collection of kiosks and a couple of teller windows surrounding a lift. The route map projection in the middle of it all flickers erratically, probably in dire need of repair.

Hongjoong shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he buys their passes at a ticket desk manned by an old robot. The blue-green glow of its customer service smile gives Joong a headache as it takes its merry old time tallying their fare. A staticy message plays through the bot’s dusty speakers, prompting them to pass into the lift.

The captain scans the screens above to find their route. It’s pretty idiot-proof for them. Only two lines pass through the station, one shoots over the city, one goes in, looping around the perimeter so everyone can make the necessary transfers. Their trolley’s the red line - something he repeats to his crew about twenty times just to make sure nobody manages to wander off. A few of them take seats on nearby benches. The terminal’s deserted, so they’re fortunateunate that they don’t need to fight anyone for the spots. Mingi and San chatter animatedly by the edge of the platform.

Jongho stands alone in front of one of the route maps.

“Hey, Woo,” Hongjoong sits down next to the first mate. 

Wooyoung peels his eyes off of the nearby lift and answers, “Captain?”

“Watching the entrances?”

“Just in case.”

“I appreciate that.”

“What? My paranoia?” The other chuckles.

“I was gonna say your street smarts.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned a few things about discretion. I can be pretty good with it. Sometimes. Sorry, what was your question?”

“Oh, um, well- I was wondering if maybe you could apply some of those street smarts to a certain someone.”

“If I could what?”

“Okay, that was worded incorrectly. I mean to say I have a question about someone. Someone in the crew,” Hongjoong nibbles on his lip, suddenly nervous. When does the trolley arrive?

Wooyoung’s brows knit, and his expression darkens slightly, “If this is about Pa-”

  
“ _ No _ . It’s not about him. No, I just-” The captain nods toward Jongho standing by the route map. Even though he’s facing it, it’s obvious that he’s just gazing right through it. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “Him.” Joong says pointedly.

“Him? Oh- Oh him,” Woo nods. For a second, his expression lifts into something remnant of understanding. But it quickly falls again, “What about him?”

“I- Does…” Joont lowers his voice, “Does he talk to you?”

“Jongho? Talk? To me?”

“Yes. Thank you for repeating my words.”

“Sorry, I just, um. What do you mean ‘talk’? We’re not on bad terms or anything like that.”

“I dunno. I- He just. He doesn’t say anything, you know? We’ve been cruising through space with the guy for a month, but… What do we even know about him?”

“That he’s freakishly strong and he sings in the shower?” Wooyoung shrugs.

Hongjoong cracks at that, a soft snort breaking through his nervousness just a bit, “Okay, I didn’t even know that. What I mean is that I feel like he’s really strong. But even strong people have problems, right? And things that make him sad. Does he talk to anyone about that stuff?”

“I mean, he’s pretty transparent about his disgust toward Mingi and Yunho for being all- well, themselves.”

“Woo, that’s not what I mean.”

Wooyoung sighs, looking slightly defeated, “Of course it’s not. I know that, but, look: he’s not an open book.”

“I get that. It’s not like I need his whole life story- not that I’d mind. It’d probably be super interesting- I just don’t want him to let things eat at him. If he’s dealing with anything, I don’t want him to think he’s all alone.”

“He knows we’re there for him. Okay, so, maybe he’s the one normally bailing our asses out, but if the situations were reversed! He knows we’d do that for him, too!”

“But he would never ask us. I guess that’s what I’m worried about. I mean, he just got thrown into prison right after graduation. He had a family and- and, like, prospects in life. Leaving that has to affect him. All we’ve ever seen is his strong side, though.”

“Listen,” Woo sighs, “Everyone’s got cargo. Like we chose to be on the ship, we choose to express our shit - or not express it - for our own reasons. It’s not your job to unpack it.”

“But what if it is?”

“It isn’t,” Wooyoung responds more assertively. “Don’t push. The Jongho we know today, that is our Jongho. Not the one who got thrown into jail. Not the- the whatever student honor roll he might have been. You keep chipping away at someone’s outer walls, you might not like what’s inside once you get there.”

“What?” Hongjoong scoots away from the other, baffled with anxiety skyrocketing. “Wooyoung, what are you talking about?”

  
“Jongho was in a high security prison like all of us. You don’t get thrown in there for being a saint.”

The captain strains to keep his tone hushed, now terrified that the other will hear them, “What exactly are you implying? Wh- Do you think he’s secretly some heinous criminal now?! I’m allowed to worry about the wellbeing of my crew.”

  
“I’m not saying you can’t, but you ought to think twice before bulldozing him with therapy questions. Not everyone cares to spill their guts at request. Just wait for him. ”

“And what if he never comes? What if something just builds and builds and builds and suddenly he’s yelling about his body fluids over lunch?” The captain huffs as quietly as possible.

“I-” Wooyoung clamps his mouth shut for a few seconds, taking a deep breath before answering tensely, “I apologized for that.” His eyes fall to the ground and his fists clench.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to- I don’t want an apology,” Hongjoong frowns, guilt adding to the mix of irritation and anxiety stewing in his stomach. “What I want is for something like that to never happen again. And, yes, part of it is for the sake of order, but for the most part I just- I don’t like seeing my crew like that.” He leans down so he can meet the other’s crestfallen gaze. “I don’t like seeing  _ you  _ like that, Woo. Seeing you guys so- so just upset and hurt. Shit- The worst part was I had no idea that was coming. At all. And I guess I- if I was a better captain-”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Wooyoung murmurs.

“Yeah, well, still feel guilty, so. Hooray. Leader things,” Hongjoong says wryly. “Listen, I just want everyone to be at peace and happy and not staring through a holo-map like a zombie.”

“You ever tried asking him what was up?”

“I ask him how he is. Don’t really get much out of him, though. I mean, look- I agree I- I want him to come to me. That is what I prefer. But I guess I’m just- Shit- Guess I’m having my own psychological break or something.”

“No, no,” Woo chuckles. “You’re not. It’s fine, really. You just need to relax on it.”

“What’s the position of Scorpio right now?” Hongjoong laughs, embarrassed. He wrings a hand over his flushing face. “Maybe that’s what’s up.”

“No, no, you’re a concerned captain, okay. I get it. And I know you just think everyone should be super direct and transparent, but that is not reality. We just have to accept it.”

“Boo.”

“Red Line approaching in one-hundred-eighty seconds. Please stand clear of the marked zone on the platform,” A lilting robotic voice plays over the speakers.

“Oh thank fuck,” Hongjoong sighs with relief. Finally, the distraction he needed. He happily hops off of the bench and joins the others in eagerly watching the track. As promised, in mere seconds the bright red car glides over the electromagnetic rails. 

He watches the others, a grin crossing his lips as he takes in their enthusiasm. San bounces excitedly - it’s his first time riding such a mode of transport (“Though it reminds me of the current shuttles from home,” he told them on the walk there). Hongjoong can’t say he’s ridden one either - at least not something with that kind of moniker. There were all manners of public transit back on his home planet - trains and shuttle crafts, mostly. Even so, the second he and Yunho got the codes to their own vaguely ship-shaped scrap heap, they took it everywhere. Mingi mentions that public transportation doesn’t exist among the general populous of Neith (figures), and BH is so clogged that most people just walk, according to Yeosang. Prettyboy doesn’t say anything. Neither does Jongho.

The eight of them board an empty car, filling in the seats and grabbing the loopholds. There aren’t too many stops between their station and their destination, but from what the dock worker told him, it’s enough time to fit in a powernap for someone determined enough.

“Stand clear of all exits...” The recording’s tinny voice instructs before the doors slide shut. Their bodies jostle slightly as the car kicks up into high speeds. Their robotic commentator rattles off the next few stops, and in seconds, they transition into a smooth, effortless electromagnetic glide. Scenery skims by the window in a gray-green blur of towering trees and cultivated land.

Latunvor draws nearer by the second. The towering structures appear even more impressive as the trolley approaches. They start to loom over, their true imposition coming to light.

“Stand clear of all exits. Now arriving at Seebius…”

The first stop is a similarly sleepy station in a similarly drab area just ever so slightly closer to the city. When the doors slide open, a few travelers peer in before opting for an emptier car. The next few stops follow suit - doors slide open, people count eight in the car, and for the most part they scatter. At their second stop somebody got into their car, but much to Hongjoong’s relief, they appeared completely occupied with something going on in their augmented VPC.

Scenery swims by in a blur. The dull greens, grays and browns melt together into into a streak of mud running by the window. Hongjoong tries to keep a vigilant watch, but as the time between stops stretches onto longer periods, he starts to zone out. All the stresses and worries of the day weigh on him, but his muddled mind neglects to process them. He thinks of them without really thinking through them. It’s like an ache of pain from an injury, a reminder of something there, something that has to get taken care of.

The mere thought of the day drags him further toward exhaustion. Though he’d barely done anything, just the implication of how things are to proceed - job hunting in a strange place under pure Coalition control - worries him. The mental fatigue makes his eyelids feel heavy like lead. His head lolls forward a couple times, hitting the glass of the window.

“Captain,” A soft voice rouses Hongjoong from his daze.

  
He yawns and stretches languidly, face to face with Yunho. “Wake up,” The canis shakes his shoulder. “We’re here.”

“Wait- What?!” Hongjoong gasps, jolting out of his seat. He glances around and realizes that Yunho is definitely right. They’re no longer gliding through the air on a track. The trolley had - at some point - settled into a fully operational, bustling station. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Yunho doesn’t hesitate to grab his captain by the wrist and yank him forward. Hongjoong stumbles onto the platform, body still catching up with his mind.

“That was fast,” He mutters.

“Yeah, well, you slept half the time,” Yunho laughs. He lugs the captain over to a piller under which the rest of the crew stands. Hongjoong, half-asleep, tries to take everything in. Unlike the other stations they’d passed through, whatever place they’d landed in Latumvar isn’t open air. The fully contained structure bustles with life. People pay the stumbling captain no mind, simply zig zagging around his uneasy gait without so much as a second glance.

The captain does a silent headcount when he joins the others. One, two, three… Eight (including him, of course). They’re all accounted for - even the platinum blond.

“Okay,” Hongjoong coughs. “Okay,” He says again, louder, hoping to get their attention. He scans his surroundings for any potential snoops or eavesdroppers. A person doesn’t have to be some chiseled bounty hunter to call in and drop a tip. One false move, and they could really be done for.

Joong’s eyes fall on a guard posted by the entry gate. Their uniform is far from what Hongjoong saw in the Naval offices when he’d been taken in. Instead of a coat, the man dons short sleeves. Low ranking security, Joong thinks. Even so, he’s Coalition, and that alone makes the captain’s hair stand up on end. For an unfortunate instant, the guard turns their head in the crew’s direction. Hongjoong stops. Time stops. He freezes in place as if not moving would prevent the predator from sighting him.

The guard’s bored gaze sweeps across the terminal, and Hongjoong swears - he swears - it pauses on him just a breath longer than it ought to.

Though quick, that instant is excrutiating to Hongjoong, thousands of tiny pinpricks of pure anxiety digging into his skin. He hears noise go on around him, but all of that vanishes under the weight of the other’s judgment. His heartbeat is what’s loudest of all.

Silently, he wills the guard to look away, to keep surveying, to do their damn job. Just look away, he thinks. Nothing to see here.

And they do just that.

Hongjoong’s shoulders sag with relief, and he lets out a sigh so loud it disrupts whatever conversation the crew was having.

“S-Sorry,” Hongjoong coughs awkwardly. At least he’s got their attention. That in itself is a feat with this crew, he’s realized. “Guards are posted at the big entrance to the left there. Lay low.” He gets a few utterances of agreement from his crew.

“So… What’s the plan?” Mingi asks.

“First step is getting out of this station. We’ll find somewhere private but not too sketchy and strategize a bit, okay?”

A few more nods and affirmations come in response.

The captain nods, “Alright, well. Let’s go. Like I said: lay low.”

He leads the others out through the very entrance the guard stands at. The blackcoat doesn’t stare, gawk, or shout. If the person wasn’t clearly alive, Hongjoong wouldn’t even be able to conclusively say that they’re breathing. They pass through completely uninterrupted and undetected. It’s a small victory, but one Hongjoong is happy to take.

ATEEZ’s crew loads onto the lift with dozens of other people - common people, students, professors, and all other manner of commuters. Wooyoung was right, they do blend in. No two people look alike, and Hongjoong even spots another canis which is a rare sight outside of certain galaxies. They could easily get lost among the people which grants the captain a tiny morsel of relief.

As they descend hundreds of meters to the surface of Latunvor, nerves begin shifting into excitement and anticipation. The thrill of a new city, planet, and place begin to set in. It’s laced with hesitency, but he anticipates exploring Latunvor nonetheless. 

  
The captain checks on his crew to see how they’re faring. The cyborg is rather steely and calm while Yunho’s tail sticks out, still and alert. Mingi can’t stop looking at people and San clings to both him and Wooyoung, irked by the steep descent. Jongho taps his toe impatiently as if he can’t wait to get off of the thing. Prettyboy might seem casual to an outsider - arms crossed, gaze down - but the captain can see how wound up he truly is. He’s nervous. Maybe his lifestyle choice is really dawning on him.

Maybe he’s considering making a run for it.

Hongjoong hopes that’s not the case - for blondie’s sake, of course. What fate would befall a man who dares betray Hongjoong’s crew? Sure, he’s all peace and love. He likes direct diplomacy and agreements rather than violence.

But with Prettyboy?

It’s different.

Hongjoong let himself get stabbed in the back one time. As someone who hates giving second chances, he made a leap of faith and extended one. For that thread of trust to get broken…

He’s not sure what kind of person he’d become, and he doesn’t want to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweat drops down Hongjoong’s nape, making him regret the fact that he’s got nothing to tie his hair back. The people of Latunvor mill about casually, completely unfazed, wearing all manner of apparel from fitted coats to drapey tunics. The captain regrets his personal wardrobe choices. He can feel sweat bake into him beneath the thick layers of denim and canvas. 

Fuck.

Nobody told him that the city would be so fucking hot.  _ Isn’t hot air supposed to rise? _ He muses, eyeing the thick columns of steam billowing up through the grating below. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like the stuff is rising. On the contrary, it feels like he’s trapped in a humid bubble on the surface level. Of all the fun little facts Jongho hinted at during the meeting, he neglected to mention one very, very distinctive thing:

Latunvor is a city powered by steam.

The clouds concealing the massive towers probably aren’t naturally occurring in the atmosphere - they’re probably the direct result of the sheer amount of moisture the place pumps out. From the electricity powering the bulbs lighting up shop signs to the propulsors keeping the passenger shuttles afloat - they’re all powered by steam. All of them. (The electrolley is, apparently, the exception.)

Consequently, Latunvor’s surface level - a solely pedestrian affair covered in cobblestone streets lined with brick and brass buildings - is essentially a sauna. The pedestrian level floors trend toward being covered in red brick. It reminds Hongjoong of those ovens they used to bake bread in during the ancient times. He imagines that this is what it feels like to be in one. Brassy tracks whirl and wind between the buildings above the surface. Local transport cars glide across the twisty tracks with a smooth hum and hiss of steam. The tracks stack one on top of the other. Layer after layer of railings tower up above, making it almost impossible to see the sky above (or what could be seen of it through the steam). If not for how reflective the brassy finishing on the upper levels of the buildings is, Hongjoong imagines Latunvor would be living in a perpetual shadow.

“How far is the university again?” Hongjoong asks Jongho.

The youngest stares distractedly at his comm. As if he could possibly be talking to anyone other than the people next to him.

  
“Hey, Jongho?” The captain tries again. “Jongho-”

“Sorry,” Jongho responds with a cough. “I was checking the map. It’s, um, ten more minutes away or so.”

“Cool. Okay. I imagine there’s some manner of public meeting space that isn’t on the surface?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably. It’s, um, the main campus isn’t on surface level, so.”

“Oh.” “Oh good.” “Thank fucking god-” A few relieved groans leave ATEEZ’s cluster.

“Good to know,” Hongjoong heaves a sigh of relief. “Wait. How’d you know that?” He quirks an eyebrow curiously.

Jongho hesitates. It’s an instant, just a fraction of a second, but the beat missed isn’t missed by the captain.

“I, um, I wanted to go here, once upon a time,” Jongho’s response comes out quiet, barely audible above the pervasive hiss of steam.

“Oh.”

  
The words knock some of the wind out of Hongjoong’s lungs. How is he supposed to respond to that? He doesn’t know shit about post-secondary education, universities, pomp or circumstance. Given the way his life went, it never had much value to him. He’s always had a severe disconnect with institutionalized education. He wasn’t the best student growing up. The second he could drop school to work, he did. He had no other choice. But, even if he did, Hongjoong isn’t sure he’d have chosen otherwise. Part of him envied the kids who fussed over what university they got into and part of him even resented them. In his eyes, those people were just  _ so  _ different from him.

Jongho is one of those people, though. And is he really that different?

Thinking on it more, Hongjoong wishes he could answer that definitively, but the answer isn’t as clear as he’d like it to be.

“What did you want to study?” Hongjoong tries. He’s not sure if the flush on the other’s cheeks is shyness or a result of the steam-fueled heat.

“Music.”

“Wait- Really?!” That’s not the answer Joong expected to hear. “I mean, I know you like it, but, I just-”

“Don’t act so surprised,” The younger chuckles.

“I’m not- it’s not because I don’t think you could. You could probably do literally anything. It’s just that I- I wasn’t prepared for that, I guess.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just very… Artistic and expressive.”

“So, what you’re saying is I’m not artistic or expressive?” Jongho replies sarcastically. 

“I mean…” Hongjoong trails off with a smirk.

“Ugh- Wow. Okay.”

“I’m just playing- I’m playing- ow- no- don’t hit me! Ow- Hey-”

“Oh- Look!” Jongho stops abruptly and points ahead of them, “That’s the main yard.”

“Huh?” Hongjoong tries to follow the other’s finger, but his brows knit in confusion. All he sees is more of the same - more tight-knit buildings and thick clouds of nauseating steam.

“No- Not there, there,” The youngest corrects him, nodding upward.

The captain’s gaze lifts. He follows the other’s direction from the brick building base up, up, up a few stories, a few cut crystal windows and massive pillars and-

Oh, there it is.

Hongjoong gasps as they approach, the goliath main courtyard coming into view.

The main yard appears to float on clouds above all else. In reality, it sits atop of a hefty base of ground-level buildings. Each tower serves as a support for the massive plot of green upon which a grandiose building sits - probably some academic center of some sort. (Hongjoong genuinely has no idea, universities are completely foreign to him.) The crown jewel of the distinguished looking building is a gigantic brass clocktower. Ornate, wrought-looking hands adorn the clockface, each one pointing to one of those dumb, outdated line numbers that Hongjoong could never quite figure out.

Joong counts about half a dozen overpassing roads branching off from the massive lawn, most likely leading to other areas that are deemed campus property. Little steam powered bikes and single-rider basket balloons are a couple of ways up that the captain notices. He imagines there are probably lifts and all other manners of local transport to get on top.

The closer they get, the harder it is to see the looming green structure. Though he can barely see, Hongjoong even spots people walking around on the thing. It’s a genuine, functioning mass of land sitting atop at least nine buildings. That’s what they  _ can  _ see.

“So, this is the place with its own mailing ID, huh?” Hongjoong mutters.

“Mhm,” Jongho says. “University of Latunvor.”

“Wait, it’s just called… University of- of the city name?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“That’s kind of-”

“Kind of what?”

“I dunno, I guess I just expected something grander for this place.”

Jongho shrugs, “Well, it’s old. I mean, does it really need a fancy name? Look at it.”

Hongjoong gazes up, and he swallows nervously, “I would, but we’re just about under it, so. Can’t really see it now, can I?”

He checks over his shoulder to assure the rest of his group is still together. Thankfully all of them - even Prettyboy - are clustered close. There are a few muttered conversations - and everyone’s wearing a similar sheen of sweat - but they’re all there.

“Alright, where do you think is a good place to talk around here?” Joong asks.

“From what I’ve heard, people hang out on that lawn alot. We’ll probably look like a group of students or something,” Jongho answers.

“Uh- Us? Students?” Hongjoong suppresses a laugh. “Sure.”

“There-” Jongho nods to a nearby building, “-looks like there’s a public access lift in that one.”

“Right. Okay,” The captain turns to regard the others over his shoulder, “Everyone, stay together. We’re going up the lift.” He does what feels like the hundredth head count of the day. An inkling of doubt hangs perpetually in the back of his mind. It inclines him to always just double check and make sure that a certain someone hasn’t scurried away. Said subject of worry and doubt is, in fact, where he ought to be, though.

The crowd gets more dense as people - students and staff, most likely - crowd the entrance of what Hongjoong has deemed the southeast tower. ATEEZ’s crew files into the doors and follows the crowd of people who seem to know where they’re going. Inside the tower looks much like out. It’s very clearly a building dedicated to navigating up and down the city levels. Though it appeared to have many stories from outside, within Joong can see all the way up. Floating diffusion droids soak up most of the sound, thankfully. Otherwise, Hongjoong is pretty damn sure the sound would be deafening bouncing up, down and across everything. Arched windows on every level flood the place with light from the outside. The real focal point stands in the middle, though.

Amidst all of it is something Hongjoong can only describe as the biggest conveyor belt of his life. Vertically oriented, one side of the wrought copper and petriwood lift descends at an easy pace. People stand on the moving platforms, descending stories upon stories breezily, some so ambivalent that they even dare lean on the meter high guard rails. When the platform levels with the floor, there’s a brief unloading period. The platform goes somewhere unseen - probably beneath the building - then promptly comes back around, orienting the opposite way. Its railing pushes through to the opposite side, people load on, it goes up, and the cycle continues. The muffled sound of running water indicates that, much like many other things in the city, it is in some way water-fueled. Overall, the design is effective and simplistic. Shockingly so. Hongjoong imagined some bigtime university would have higher tech. He wonders how many casualties the Latunvor lifts have had. The railing’s twirly design implies it’s more decorative than protective.

“What the  _ hell  _ is that?” A voice squeaks out from the crew.

Hongjoong nearly gasps, his eyes wide as he turns around to see none other than Prettyboy staring past him. The blond’s lips part into an almost comical “O” shape, and his eyes widen with mortification.

“That would be the lift,” The captain deadpans as they shuffle forward in the loosely formed line.

“Why are we at the lift?”

“Because we need to go up. And before you ask: no. You cannot stay back on ground level.”

The blond’s eyes skitter nervously, assessing the other members of the crew. Hongjoong isn’t sure what the guy’s looking for, but whatever it is, he doesn’t find it. His eyes flee to the ground and not another word comes out of him. Hongjoong decides not to elaborate, rolling his eyes and turning back around.

The constantly mobile lift system makes for a quick line. They end up on a platform a few minutes later and crowd on. When the gold and ivory counter times out, a brass gate slides closed and it starts moving. Hongjoong happens to be near the edge and grips the railing in a vice. He’s not usually freaked out by heights, but even he feels particularly vulnerable knowing nothing is between him and the ground beneath.

Unloading is very much like loading. The second the thing halts, everyone scrambles off in a just-barely-orderly fashion. Hongjoong is composed enough to stay back, but half the crew bolts (including blondie, which worries him for a millisecond). When they’re all back in their safe eight, Hongjoong leads them out. Immediately out the tower doors is a set of steps.

They ascend, and that is when the university’s true majesty begins to take shape. With each step, more gets revealed. More lush, green, manicured grass, more ornately laid out pathing tiles with inlaid brass, more helper bots, more trees, more fountains - just  _ more _ . By the time they’re at the top step, Hongjoong has to get dragged to the side by Yunho because he’s distracted.

The captain gawks at the yard that’s so massive he doesn’t even know how to adequately quantify it. It’s far bigger than the average city block where he’s from. It could probably fit one, two, three, four - so many city blocks. Two Anaconda warships could park comfortably on the expanse of walkways and almost blindingly green grass. Straight down the middle, at the very back sits the centerpiece of it all, that damn clock tower. 

Students stride rushedly from one side to the other, completely oblivious to anything that isn’t the path in front of them. Small cliques laze about on laid out blankets or stretch out on holofield hammocks. Just as they’d seen above, the larger, more main pathways lead to high overpassing roads that lead to what Hongjoong assumes to be more university property.

Even though he’s in charge, Joong finds himself dragged a ways down. His mouth hangs open all the while, and he doesn’t shut it until Yunho damn near throws him down under an old tree with a wide, shading canopy. Hongjoong manages to shut his mouth and obliges the others, taking a seat.

Feeling a touch embarrassed by his lack of composure, Joong reigns himself in, “Okay, um- Okay, we’re all here.”

“Right.” “Yep.” “Yes, captain.” A few responses come in. The majority of the crew sits in a semicircle under the tree as well. Wooyoung idly rubs San’s shoulders while Mingi leans on Yunho heavily. Yeosang is happy to lean back on his elbows and stretch out. Jongho and Prettyboy opt to stand against the tree instead.

Nervousness starts to set into the captain’s veins again. He can’t pinpoint whether it’s the attention on him, the new place, their new task of finding jobs, or the newest crew member. It’s probably a combination of it all, he reckons. But, anxiety or not, he is still the captain. It is his duty to lead. So, he swallows down the lump of tension in his throat and continues. First, he checks their surroundings. Nothing appears off visibly.

“This is a really pretty spot,” Hongjoong says, looking pointedly at the cyborg. “The tree has so many branches and leaves, plus the grass is so nice and plush… Yeosang, do you think critters would hide in a spot like this?”

“Critters?” Yeo’s brows knit confusedly.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong replies. “Like  _ bugs _ . Or, y’know, there are those birds that tap on the trunk of a tree. That’s a real thing, right? Saw it in a cartoon once, anyway.”

“Ah,” The cyborg nods in understanding.

They’re on Coalition turf. Every planet and community is different. Where he lived, the Coalition did most of their work on foot - random patrols or informants would get people in trouble. But, that’s not how it is everywhere. For all he knows, the entire university campus could be covered in cameras, heat readers, auric alarms or audio bugs. Though it might come across as paranoia, Hongjoong would rather be safe than sorry. Yeosang scans the area discreetly. Everyone remains silent as they watch the little blue beam from his eyes trace their surroundings. 

“We’re in the clear, far as I can tell,” The cyborg says.

Hongjoong lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and replies, “Thank you so much. Seriously, you’re a godsend.”

“I know,” The cyborg grins smugly (though the embarrassed flush of his ears isn’t missed by the captain). 

“Jongho, I wanna thank you,” The captain starts. “It kinda freaked me out being here at first, but there’s so many people. I think this was a good call.”

“Oh- Of course,” The youngest nods. “I was just thinking of the crew. Happened to be familiar.”

“Seriously, thank you. This place seems like a pretty good fit for our needs, but…”

“But,” Yunho adds, “We need to find work, don’t we?”

“Yup,” Hongjoong answers. “On ground level I saw plenty of shops. Looks like it’s a pretty standard urban situation. Shops and businesses occupy the first few floors, residences above. The question is whether or not these places want or need temp jobs.”

“Captain,” Wooyoung responds, “If I may - I can definitely scout out certain establishments. Bars, taverns, lounges, v-clubs. See if my connections can get me anywhere.”

“Wh- Connections? Woo, do you know people here?”

“You don’t have to know people. Just names and a few basic traits.”

“Uh-” Mingi interjects, “There wouldn’t be university sanctioned, um, ‘taverns’ as you called it. Wait- would there? Is that customary elsewhere?”

“No,” Jongho rolls his eyes with a chuckle, “It’s not. But they always surround university. Thousands of them. The student population fuels the economy around here.”

“I don’t see how drinking enriches the educational experience,” The Venusian scoffs.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about education,” Hongjoong responds.

“Well, actually, I was interested in what they’ve got here.”

“Wait- Really?”

“Captain, this is an educational institution. There has to be some public access library here, right?”

“Uh-” Joong looks to Jongho for guidance. The youngest nods affirmatively. “Yeah?”

Mingi sits up straighter as if he’s about to deliver an address. It’s not a posture he takes up often, but whenever he does this, Hongjoong knows the Venusian is trying to make some type of point or arguement. Though the Venusian can bullshit with the best of him, whenever Mingi expresses confidence in this way, Joong knows it’s because he’s probably right.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how much help I would be in the job search department. I really don’t have the same resources to draw on as others do, and I definitely lack experience. Since we’re here, I would like your permission to pursue something else in the meanwhile. Once we find employment, I’ll participate, obviously, but this university has been around- how long is it?”

“Nearly five centuries,” Jongho answers.

“Jeez.” “Damn.” “Nearly- What?” A few shocked murmurs sound out from the others.

Mingi grins, “Nearly five centuries. In five-hundred years of keeping records, literature, studies- don’t you think it would be possible that we find something relating to the Compass that we don’t know?”

Hongjoong’s brows raise with surprise. He would never dare admit it to Mingi, but he’s impressed. Just as the captain inferred, the Venusian makes an excellent point. Hongjoong has never had the potential of so much knowledge right at his fingertips. This isn’t just stuff that can be punched into an interstellar search network. This is  _ old  _ knowledge - books, studies, analysis, peer-reviewed journals (whatever that actually means). And Mingi, for all his quirks, is intelligent and well-educated. He would definitely be qualified to research anything relating to the Compass.

“Promise me you’ll do whatever work that comes your way later?” Hongjoong posits.

“I promise, captain.”

“Alright, then it’s settled. You’re on research duty.”

“Would you mind if I had company? I don’t think it’s a good idea to go alone,” The Venusian tries, making puppy eyes at Yunho.

Hongjoong suppresses his gag reflex as he responds, “I’m fine with that as long as you stay on task and come back with something to report.”

“Perfect,” Mingi beams. “Yunho, you wanna do some research with me?”

“O-Oh,” The canis’s ears tint pink, “I- I would, but, um I’m not very… Book...Ish.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jongho pipes up, drawing a few surprised looks from the crew (and the captain, too). “What’s with the looks? You know, I was gonna go to university before, well- everything. I- I know how to study and read and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Hongjoong cuts him off. His heart sinks thinking of the things Jongho lost because of his prison sentence. Like Wooyoung said: they don’t know the person he was. Maybe he wasn’t a saint, and, yes, something did land him in jail. But the person Hongjoong knows  _ now  _ certainly doesn’t deserve a life sentence. A trip to the library isn’t much, but if that’s what Hongjoong can give Jongho, then give it he will. It’s not as if the youngest is being completely unproductive, anyway. “You two head to the library. We can contact you on the comm when we’ve got some news.” For the first time all day, Jongho smiles. He nods enthusiastically in response.

“Actually,” Wooyoung adds, “That’s a good idea. We could split up into smaller groups. We’re less conspicuous that way.”

“Hm,” Hongjoong considers the idea warily. He doesn’t love the idea of splitting up, but managing all of them together can be a bit daunting. He trusts them enough to go off on their own.

  
Well, most of them.

“We can cover more ground, too,” The captain responds with a nod. “Well if those two are on research duty, you wanna check the local watering holes. We can split three and three.”

“Sounds good. Uh, should we pick lots or-”

“San and Yeo can go with you. Yunho, Prettyboy, you’re with me.”

“Right.” “Yes, captain.” “Okay!”

“We’ve got two on research, you guys go east, we go west?”

“Sounds good to me,” Wooyoung replies.

“We’ll stay on campus. According to what Jongho told me, there are lots of bulletins around for one-off jobs. Tutoring, surveys- easy stuff that shouldn’t require too much verification.” Plus, the campus has law enforcement that technically isn’t Coalition. Hongjoong doesn’t tack on that point, but it’s ever present in his mind - especially with blondie in the mix. Even though the other’s presence irks him, it gives Joong some peace of mind knowing he can keep an eye on the guy. The closest thing to Coalition he could run to would be university police who Hongjoong  _ hopes  _ aren’t equipped to deal with a manic runaway officer.

"Everyone's got their comms, right?" The captain inquires. He receives a few nods in response. "Well, almost everyone-"

"Actually," Yeosang responds, "Captain, I wanted your permission before giving Hwa one, but I did make another comm. So, can I...?"

The cogs in Hongjoong's head grind together as he tries to figure out who in the hell "Hwa" is. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to connect the dots to blondie's real name. That's right. He has one.

Park Seonghwa.

What a pretty name for a pretty man.

Joong remembers he thought that when they first met, too. Before all of this mess transpired, before he knew what a prick the guy is. Though not much time has passed since that day Hongjoong got taken to a questioning room in KQ, it feels like forever ago. He didn't even know half of his crew back then. As for Prettyboy Seonghwa, well, he sure as hell wasn't on  _ nickname  _ terms with anyone. The captain is shocked the guy isn't rolling his eyes at the moniker. It baffles him that Yeosang would even use one, though. Sure it's a syllable shorter - but why? They've known each other for days and suddenly they're super friendly with one another? The captain decides to stuff down the irritation bubbling up in his throat. Yeosang can do what he wants - he reminds himself of that mentally before responding to the cyborg's question.

"Uh- Yeah. That's fine," Hongjoong says.

Yeosang giddily fishes another sleek, slender comm out of his pocket and holds it up to the blond brooding against the tree. For a second - just a second - their eyes meet, and Prettyboy's expression softens. He gives the cyborg a tight-lipped almost-smile as he accepts the glassy device.

"Okay. So, we all have comms- which, if he didn't tell you, can only communicate between the crew," Hongjoong tells the other. "So, stay alert. Watch your comms. If you find anything good, let us know. If things run long without any good opportunities I'll message a rendezvous spot and time. Got it?"

"Right." "Yes." "Yes, captain." "Mhm." Muttered responses echo from the crew.

"Alright," Hongjoong sighs, trying to vent his anxiety as he exhales. "Let's split, then." He nods toward Yunho and the blond, leading the two away from the tree. Yunho skips on ahead, tail wagging as his head whips around, drinking in their strange surroundings.

"Hey," Joong barks at the blond. "Pick up the pace."

The blond stumbles forward, gaze fixed on his feet. He mutters, "Does the ground feel... Shifty to you?"

"Huh?"

"Shifty. Unstable?" The blond ventures leveling with Hongjoong's gaze. His bright blue eyes appear almost wet, borderline dripping with uncertainty. Ah, he thinks, baby's first time avoiding the law and doing odd jobs. He must be nervous. Either that, or he has genuinely lost his mind. Joong still isn't sure, but the latter isn't completely improbable considering the life choices he's made thus far.

"No," He answers frankly. "Come on. Let's go."

"Yes, captain," The blond answers almost glumly.

The captain suppresses a roll of the eyes and tries not to dwell too much on the other's mopey behavior. It's none of his business, anyway. Whatever it is, he'd probably rather talk to Yeosang (or whatever fucking nickname he might've given the other) about it, anyway.

The trio split off in one direction, and everyone else forks off in different ones. Jongho almost rips Mingi's arm out of its socket as he excitedly drags him toward the massive building. San, Yeosang and Wooyoung chatter so loudly that Hongjoong can still hear them even as they drift apart.

It makes Hongjoong nervous, being separated. He reminds himself that they need this, though. They need work and they need to know they can adapt.

He's not much of the religious type, but Hongjoong prays that things go smoothly for them. If something happens and he's not around for it, he'll never forgive himself. Of course, considering that their biggest liability is ambling at his side, he supposes that he doesn't really have to worry about the others too much.

* * *

Mingi's smile stretches from ear to ear as he steps into the grand reading room of Latunvor's Polaris Library. Something about the city reminds him of home, strangely enough. Perhaps it's the thoughtful design or the valuation of gold-esque metals in the aesthetics. The inside of Polaris's grand reading room mimics much of what one sees on the outside, though brick is changed out for a more light wash stone and the patterns hewn by the wood paneling resemble more floral motifs, it's overall incredibly fitting. Massive columns with copper bands hold a vaulted ceiling covered in mosaics depicting some industrial scene. Dark wood stacks line the walls of the great, open space. They're packed with specialized concentration tablepedias - or so Jongho told Mingi as he rattled off facts about the place.

"-heard they keep their paper book archives underground to protect them from wear," Jongho babbles happily. It's the most animated the Venusian has seen him, and he can't help but be a tad fond. Jongho is the youngest of the crew, but he certainly does not act it. But, in times like this, when his eyes twinkle with anticipation and his lips twitch with a scarcely suppressed smile, it truly dawns on Mingi.

"Wow. I never knew other planets had such complete universities," Mingi sighs wistfully. "I would've loved to attend a place like this."

"I thought you did get post-secondary education," Jongho responds, brows raised with curiosity.

"All of my education was done in the palace with private tutors."

"Oh."

"I'd seriously have rather come somewhere like here, though."

"Yeah, me, too. This was, um, actually my first choice," Jongho's cheeks flush ever so slightly at the admission.

"It was your... First choice?"

"Y-Y'know. Uh- Maybe you don't. Well, when someone intends to attend a post-secondary institution, there are tons of options. Obviously there's application and qualifications you have to meet. Admission isn't guaranteed, so you rank your choices."

"Oh! Oh- Right! That makes sense," The Venusian chuckles sheepishly. "Wow, so you really wanted to attend this university, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I was gonna go, but, um, then..." He trails off, and his expression dims. "You know."

"Well, since we're here now, let's enjoy it!" The Venusian flashes the other what he hopes is a winning smile. He gently grasps the other's sleeves and leads him forward. "So, tell me, how would we go about our research anyway?"

"Ah, well, we should start by finding a base of operations," Jongho replies. He scans the wide expanse of tables and sitting areas. Though the space is open, different furnishings create unofficial "zones". Some areas have more plush furniture to emphasize lounging and relaxation. One section of the room is nothing but stark, long mahogany tables lined with individual power stations and lamps at each seat. Study groups utilize the round tables while individuals sit at small desks. "Oh- Over there. That's perfect."

Jongho leads Mingi on a winding trek between tables and desks to a far corner of the reading room. Unlike most of the sitting areas which are bare save for power sources, the corner he found is set with screens.

"Public use PCs," Jongho mutters, sitting down.

"Public?" Mingi follows suit, curiosity piqued now more than ever.

"Uh, yeah. You know. Public. As in: for everyone to use."

"Why would they just have computers sitting out for everyone?" It makes no sense to him whatsoever. Wouldn't any student in attendance be prepared with their own equipment? Is it for forgetful types? What use would one have for it otherwise? Jongho pauses for an instant. He seems just as confused as Mingi, which makes the Venusian even  _ more  _ confused.

"Um, there are various uses. Sometimes software requirements for classes are expensive or virtual modules need to be logged digitally. It's more convenient for students to work with materials available at the university."

"Oh. Hm."

"Most importantly for us: these are all hooked up to the interstel."

Mingi's eyes widen, "Wh- Yes. Right. Of course." The galactic interstellar network is the only way for people to connect digitally from galaxies apart. Things on the ship have happened in such a whirlwind succession that Mingi's nearly forgotten he didn't have access. He used to rely so much on the interstel for, well, everything. It was his one safe haven from palace life, a place he could explore the universe beyond safely. Hell, he's certain without it, he'd never have met Yunho. He wouldn't know what a dog is or want so terribly to meet one without encountering cute videos of them!

"Oh! So, I guess, uh, we should start with a search?" Mingi posits. "Damn, I wish I'd brought my journal." He frowns. He ended up borrowing some of Yunho's clothes.They fit surprisingly well (though he's not positive he'll ever reconcile with the sensation of denim against his bare skin); however, they're too tight for him to fit much in the pockets - let alone a journal and pen.

"They might have some scratch pads or something at one of the printing stations."

"Printing station?"

Jongho nods in the distance toward a cluster of work benches with cubicle printers on them. The glassy boxes glimmer as they work, thin steam wafting out from the open chambers upon the retrieval of their scale models and machinery components. The Venusian's brows raise with surprise. The University of Latunvor is genuinely impressive. No doubt commoners would struggle to gain access to such sophisticated little material makers. No wonder it was Jongho's first choice.

"Actually, since you'll be up, do you mind doing the first round of pulling?" Jongho asks, clasping his hands together and putting on an animated pout.

"You think they'll keep the tabs on the Compass's legend here?" Mingi replies, eyeing the stacks lining the walls.

"If they're not around here, you could just ask one of the aids. Tell them you're doing a... A project?"

"We're doing a literary analysis and comparison of various depictions of the Compass's legend for our literature thesis," Mingi completes the story with a smirk.

"Uh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, that. That's good."

"On it. I'll see what I can find. Don't move."

"Of course not," Jongho laughs. "I'll start seeing what I can find on the stel..."

Mingi happily strides off, drinking in more of the scenery. Windows above the stacks and skylights flood the reading room with natural light along with the simulated light of the robust chandeliers floating throughout. A muted hum floats throughout the room - the chatter of busy students and music leaking from old-fashioned headsets.

So, this is the life Jongho wanted, Mingi muses. He never harbored any particular mental image of Jongho's past, but part of him still struggles to believe that it was headed toward this. Not that Jongho isn't capable. Mingi doesn't doubt that the younger man can do anything. It's just that the rest of ATEEZ's crew is so edgy. Mingi always assumed that Jongho had similar values and origins. It's not as if he could do anything other than guess, given that Jongho never speaks about his past.

Seeing the university inspires more intrigue than Mingi ever anticipated. Who is Choi Jongho? Where did he come from that such a massive, grandiose place was set in his sights? Was it a far-off dream or something within the grasp of reality?

And how did he end up in jail instead?

Mingi passes by the printing station Jongho pointed out and deftly swipes some materials off a table when a student is turned away. He spots a reception desk toward the entrance and casually slides into the queue .

"Hi. I'm looking for volumes relating to... To fairytales, fables, and legends. Um, I- I'm new here, and I was wondering where I could acquire them."

The desk worker pushes their round glasses up the bridge of their nose and answers politely, "Of course. Do you want digital, tablet or are you looking for physical tomes?"

"Yes to all of the above," Mingi chuckles amicably, flashing the worker a smile. "I'm researching the fairytale of the Compass, specifically. You know, the one with the adventurer."

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Got it. Com...Pass..." They tap something onto their console, squinting down at a screen Mingi can't see. "There is a lot of information on it. Do you really need... Everything?"

"My partner and I are analysing and comparing various tellings. So, stories would be helpful as well as articles, journal entries or other works relating to the tale or its symbolism."

"Right, okay. Um, it looks like we've got a lot. We can load a tabletome for you with a few things, but old-fashioned books we can only loan a few at a time. So... Oh-!" The attendant claps. "And I'm gonna need your student ID."

A spike of panic surges through Mingi's veins. He refuses to show anything other than composure, though. He answers confidently with a smile.

"My ID? Of course, let me just..." He makes a show of patting down his pockets and looking dismayed. "Ah- ♒︎♏︎●︎●︎📬︎ ✋︎🕯︎❍︎ ⬧︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ♋︎■︎ ♋︎♓︎❒︎♒︎♏︎♋︎♎︎📬︎-" He casts his eyes down, muttering dismayedly in his mother tongue and biting down on his lip. After putting on the little show of Venusian Sadness, he gives the desk worker a sad smile, "I think I, um, left it at home."

"Oh. Um," The mousey student-worker twiddles their thumbs. Clearly they're the type of person who doesn't like saying no, which works in Mingi's favor because he doesn't much like hearing it.

"Is there, um- shit- is there anything I can do-"

"Sorry, it's our policy-"

"No. No, I know, of course. You're just- you're doing your job- and doing it well. I just, um-" He stops abruptly, wringing a hand down his face to communicate stress. "☞︎◆︎♍︎🙵 ❍︎♏︎📬︎."

"A-are you an abroad student?" The attendant asks. "I thought you had an accent, and whatever language you're speaking- what- what is it?"

"Yeah, um, I'm here from Venus."

The desk worker's eyes widen with surprise and they nod, "Oh, I've heard of that place, actually. It's, um, pretty nice, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I like it here, too."

"Right. Well. Cool. Sorry about the books, but, um can you go to your dorm and grab the ID?"

"Oh, um, I actually commute. My host family's lives like an hour out, I ride the trolley in," Mingi's fake smile falters. "But, uh- I can- I can..." He takes a deep, showy breath, channeling the saddest thoughts he can conjure to bring tears to his eyes. It's a well practiced technique of his. He's employed the deception since childhood to get his way with his governess. Even the most steely castle staff often crumbled beneath the weight of his wet-eyed pout. "Sorry, um, thank you. For, um, seeing me. I'll just, um- I'll try to figure it out."

He grabs the attendant's eyes with his own, delivering a long, pleading gaze. He can feel the visceral discomfort radiating off of the poor soul. Whatever paltry sum they pull for the job certainly isn't enough for them having to deal with such profound awkwardness.

Still, in spite of all his efforts and pageantry, the worker doesn't cave.

Yet.

"S...Sorry," They mumble, pushing up their glasses again.

"No! No problem. Uh- Have a good day," Mingi flashes another smile before turning on his heel and walking off. He slumps his shoulders and wrings a hand through his hair.

Not a minute passes before he hears a soft mutter behind him, "W-Wait!"

The Venusian tries to suppress his grin and turns around, an expression of fake surprise painted on his face.

"S-Sorry," The demure worker says shyly. Out from behind their post, they appear even smaller. "Um- Listen, I get it it. Honestly, it happens all the time, and I know it's midterm season. Here-" They extend a rather unremarkable looking tablet, "-I loaded on some of the stuff that matched your query. It's checked out with my ID. Just bring it back before you're done, okay?"

Mingi rushes forward, a genuine smile blossoming on his face, "Really?"

"Um, yeah, just- don't be loud about it. If, um, you need more I think we put some fiction on the northwest shelves- by the cozy chairs."

"You're a lifesaver," Mingi grabs the tablet, making sure his fingers brush the attendant's. The mousey little librarian flushes, twiddling their fingers in absence of the tab. "Seriously, thank you so much. I owe you my life- my grades- like, everything."

"Oh, um, don't- don't worry about it. Um- So, I have to get back to my post. Remember just-"

"Return it, yeah. Got it. Thank you again."

"Think nothing of it! Um- Right- Gonna- g-good luck!"

"You too," Mingi gives the worker a happy wave before trotting off, a skip in his step.

It was elementary, really. He's massively relieved that all the bullshitting and schmoozing he's done for years has paid off somehow. Even more relieved that they work on someone who has no idea who he is or where he's really from. He often wondered about that. All those people who bowed to him - he always assumed they did so because of status. There's something vindicating about being fawned over for just being himself. Well, a theatrically despaired version of himself, anyway.

"Okay, northwest corner... Northwest corner..." Mingi weaves between the sections of tables and various seating options. He takes to the walls, running his fingers along the spines of books and edges of tablet cases. Upon reaching the northwest corner, he scans the alleged fiction section.

Quite a diverse assortment presents itself - from fable anthologies to contemporary works. Famous plays written by the ancients sit alongside new releases in the apparently curated section. Mingi pulls a few out - mostly for the sake of entertainment. He has no idea what people elsewhere read for fun. For him personally, his interests in story-type and subject matter vary.

During his early teen years he devoured books like an anteater would a termite colony. He always favored fantastical stories about great adventures. Usually supernatural powers or far off places were central to the plot. Sometimes, he fancied something more informative, though. He had a brief phase during which his leisure reading consisted solely of architectural history (mostly pertaining to Venus). Yet, as the years went on, even that beloved hobby came to exhaust him. However, lately, the hobby's appeal has made itself known. During the quiet times on the ship, he finds himself seeking out any miscellaneous literature the Coalition onloaded directories have for him.

"No, no, no..." Mingi whispers to himself as he reads the titles of the paper books. "No... The Stories That Defined Us... Fable anthology- yes." He pulls out the thick volume gingerly, relishing in the aroma of musk and paper wafting off of the thing. "Let's see. No, no. This is all contemporary... New releases... No, no... No- hm?"

The Venusian's fingers stop on a spine boasting a most curious title. The fiberoptic lettering decorating the book's spine give off a pulsating red glow, almost as if the story within is breathing.

"His Highness's Hound?" He whispers, carefully drawing it out. The cover dons a surprisingly provocative image of a slender humecanis with a majestic tail donning a collar. He glances at his cohort on the cover, a human with a rather tacky crown, with scorn. Turning it over he skims the description, his eyebrows going higher and higher with each word he reads.  _ "Saluki hybrid Alexei finds himself scraped up from a musty village and is thrown into the midst of the Kingdom's volatile court, offered to the King Daniil as a gift. Relegated to the role of-" _ Mingi gasps quietly, and his cheeks heat, _ "-of his highness's play thing, the concubine must navigate the gilded maze of sex, gossip and politics..." _

Mingi sheepishly checks his surroundings, double checking to assure nobody is watching him. This is, of course, for the sake of general stealth, not at all because of the book he's pulled out. But if it was in regards to the book he'd pulled, certainly nobody would have noticed him slowly adding it to his pile.

Not a soul.

* * *

Hongjoong shifts from one foot to the other nervously as they scan the bulletin board. He, Yunho and Prettyboy slipped into one of the university buildings and immediately got assaulted with a bulletin reel spanning an entire wall. Campus events, sporting competitions, club meetings, tutoring services, seminars - all manner of university crap scrolls across the thing. So many adverts cluster the hologram that they overlap like posters plastered one over the other. A few of them glitch, artifacts and dead pixels marring pictures and warping text. Hongjoong thanks his lucky stars that the thing doesn't have sound enabled. He can't imagine the din otherwise. It'd probably be deafening.

"Writing tutoring?" Yunho reads out next to Hongjoong.

"Hm?" The captain tears his eyes away from the screen which is starting to blur in his vision.

"There's one asking for a writing tutor. Says they've got an essay about, um, prose. You're good at that, right?"

A soft snort sounds out on the other side of Hongjoong. Prettyboy.

"I'm not sure I could advise someone on a collegiate level," Hongjoong answers, ears burning. He's just waiting for the other to make some snarky remark.

"Really? All those journals filled front to back with poetry and you don't think you're qualified?"

Joong's face feels as if it's been doused in oil and set alight. Though the blond doesn't say anything, Hongjoong can practically feel the mocking judgment radiating off of the man.

"Yunho," Hongjoong mutters. "I don't think it's a good fit."

"You're a fanatic poet, I bet you could school anyone in poetry."

"Yunho-"

"Don't think I didn't see you writing one last night," The humecanis playfully jabs the captain in the side.

Normally, Hongjoong is all for a bit of banter and teasing. Yes, he's a poet by hobby and, yes, he does it a lot. It's always served as an emotional outlet, a way for him to pour out his emotions without burdening anyone other than the pages of his journal. But for Prettyboy to be privy to that wounds him a little bit. It's not something he talks about nor is it something he's eager to share. Save for Yunho and their parents, nobody's read anything he ever wrote and he'd like to keep it that way. It's a vulnerability, almost. And the last person he wants to know about a vulnerability is the blond standing right fucking next to him.

"Yunho," Hongjoong answers strainedly, cheeks burning, "It's not. A good. Fit."

"I guess you're right. It's not a lot of money," The canis murmurs completely unaware. "Oh- I think I see one over there!" He skips across the wall.

"What exactly are you looking for, captain?" The blond utters next to him.

Hongjoong can't tell if it's a serious question or a rhetorical one. There's a sarcastic undertone, he swears it, but he swallows down his snappy response and answers him genuinely.

"Manual labor is fine. Something that all of us can do. Whatever we earn is split nine ways even, so the bigger the better."

"It's split nine ways?" The blond quirks an eyebrow.

"Uh, yes. There are eight of us, plus a fund for general expenses."

"Huh," Prettyboy clicks his tongue. His eyes don't leave the screen once.

"Huh? What 'huh'?"

"What? Nothing. It's nothing."

"If you have a question, I would be  _ happy  _ to answer it," Joong says, words dripping with sarcasm.

"No. No questions from me, just..."

"Just what? Don't tell me you're afraid to hurt my feelings now."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Hongjoong rolls his eyes but decides against pushing the other. He doesn't give a shit about his inevitably shitty opinion, anyway. As long as the fucker stays in line, he can judge Hongjoong all he wants.

"Whatever," The captain mutters. "Hey, Yunho, d'you see any filtering? I know sometimes these bulletin screens have optio- wha-" His jaw drops, and his eyes widen. He spins around, checking the entire lobby, but a certain humecanis is conspicuously missing. "Yunho?"

Joong paces over to glance down the nearby hallway, but it's completely empty.

"Yunho?" He tries again to no avail. Yunho's not exactly subtle nor is he small or inconspicuous. He definitely wouldn't hide for fun. Knowing the canis, he probably wandered off somewhere.

Shit.

The worry that'd taken up prolonged residence in Hongjoong stomach starts to gnaw again. His anxiety spikes, and his mind reels, grasping for a solution. In just five seconds, he somehow managed to lose his best friend. His tall, tail-wagging best friend. How?

How?

The captain curses himself for being so damn distracted. He glances down the corridor again. There's no Yunho, but there are doors. A lot of doors. Doors that possibly a certain canis passed through in confusion. Fuck.

Hongjoong heaves a sigh and waves the other over, "Okay, let's go find Yunho."

"What? Wait- The dog is gone?" The blond balks. "What'd he run after a loose butterfl-"

_ "Thuud!!" _

Before even thinking about it, Hongjoong grabs the other by the collar and slams him roughly into the wall. The blond's body distorts the holoboard, letters and images jumbling over his clothes as he gasps. The captain vents his anger into his grip, knuckles going white around the black shirt bunched up in his fist.

"What did we  _ just  _ talk about on the ship?" He asks through gritted teeth, angry gaze boring into the other's.

The blond winces, grasping at Hongjoong's wrist, "What-"

"No prejudice? No deragotory comments- I'm sorry are those words too fucking big? Do I need to say them slowly or should I use smaller ones?"

"Oh, please I didn't mean it like  _ that _ ," The blond argues. "It's just a nickname, hell's sake."

"Just a nickname? Oh for fuck's-"

"I mean- Dogs are cute-"

Joong's grip tightens, and it takes everything in his power not to punch the guy in the face. He's glad they're not between classes, because anybody walking in on them would likely call the campus patrol. Hell, they might still have to after finding the pretty fucker laid out on the ground with bruises all over his face. Guess he wouldn't be too pretty then.

"Yunho is  _ not _ . A fucking. Dog."

"Ugh- I don't understand why you're so angry, it's just a word-"

"Of course you don't," Hongjoong lets out a wry laugh. His expectations were low, but not low enough, apparently. Of course he doesn't understand. Why would he? Clearly whatever bubble the blond bastard came out of had no humecanis people. He probably knows nothing of what they've gone through and has probably been happy to buy whatever shit the feds have been force feeding him for the decades of his life.

He probably believes it when he says they're "just words" because he has never, in his privileged fucking life, known the power of "just words". "Just words" clearly never threatened him, his family, his livelihood, his safety - words hold no significant meaning or power to him.

God, does that make Hongjoong's blood boil.

It's like a slap in the face, a swift reminder as to how different they really are. It's not as if Hongjoong had deluded himself to think otherwise or anything. It's just insanely jarring to be so plainly presented with their differences. It's like the universe is mocking him, telling him, "See this? This is the jackass you brought on. You allowed this onto your ship."

As much as he'd love to lay into the blond, leave him covered in bruises and tell him things he would never dream of telling anyone, something holds him back. He's got more pressing concerns, anyway. He can deal with Seongtwat later. Finding Yunho is more of a priority to him, and he refuses to allow the other to rile him up more than he has. That's giving him too much energy and importance.

"Whatever, let's just go find Yunho," The captain says. He starts walking off in the direction he thinks Yunho had gone, trying to figure out which door he would've gone through. The other is slow to follow, and the irritation bubbling up on Hongjoong's gut makes him snap, "Hey. Useless fucking cunt! I said we're gonna find Yunho."

Prettyboy stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide with mortification and jaw dropped. It's hilarious, and Hongjoong practically buzzes with smug satisfaction.

"What?" The captain's brows raise. "Don't look at me like that. They're just words."

The blond lets out a humorless sound remnant of a laugh, "Oh. Right. Mature."

"Oh, I'm sorry did that bother you? Because I could go with UFC for short, if you want. 'Course I'm not opposed to just calling you Cunt."

The blond's expression sours, "I know you think you're making a point, but insulting me with strong language is not the same as a little nickname. You're simply doing it because you don't like m-"

"Wait- Let me get this straight, you find it insulting when I call you a rude, derogatory name?  _ What _ ? But they're  _ just  _ words."

"Fine. Point taken. I won't call him a dog," Prettyboy rolls his eerily blue eyes.

"No, I don't think the point is taken, because you clearly don't get it."

"You're right. I don't. I don't get why calling the guy with a fuzzy dog tail who shares genes with literal dogs a  _ dog  _ is a problem. Whereas I am-"

"A useless cunt. Sorry, a useless  _ ignorant  _ cunt. Seriously, I never thought I'd have to explain to a grown man why reducing a person to an animal is bad, but, well, guess fate's funny that way."

"You are lending way too much thought to my words."

"And somehow mine manage to go completely over your head."

"Okay, but, I'm not trying to insult or reduce-"

"Your 'intention' doesn't fucking matter here. And if I, his best friend, say that something is insulting to him, it's insulting. You'd rather call a fucking shipmate an  _ animal  _ than use his name because of physical traits and genetics he can't help. How is that  _ not  _ insulting?"

"I- I didn't mean it as an insult whereas you very deliberately meant to insult me. Those things are not the same-"

"You're right, they're not. Because Yunho isn't a dog, but you  _ are  _ fucking useless," Hongjoong spits back angrily. "If you had anything of value to offer, the Coalition would've given a shit when you disappeared over a month ago. Who came looking for you, Prettyboy? What'd they do when you were offered up on a silver platter to Coalition-aligned?"

That shuts him up. He presses those rosy lips of his shut tight into a thin line. His entire body tenses.

"That's what I thought. Think before you speak next time- or, well, ever. You don't have to love the rest of the crew. You don't even have to like them. But you will respect them if you care as much about this Journey as you said you do. Hell, maybe if you behave, one day they'll respect you, too. Understood?"

"Understood, captain," The blond murmurs, low and strained.

"Good, now let's find- what's his name?"

"Huh?"

"Say his name."

"Yunho," The blond answers glumly. "We're going to go find Yunho, Captain." Sounds like his slice of humble pie didn't go down too easy. Sucks for him. Figures the uncertain, inquisitive Seonghwa in the bridge that night was nothing other than a fluke - a sharp knife dulled down by continuous wear.

"That's better."

* * *

Yunho peeks around the corner of the corridor again and sighs when he sees it empty. He can’t pick up a scent at all, the smell of whatever ambiguously floral cleaner they use is too strong for him to detect anything else.

  
How? He asks himself.

How the hell did he manage to lose Hongjoong and Seonghwa?

One second, he was chasing down a promising prospect on the bulletin reel. The next, he found himself god-knows-where in the maze of hallways. The faint rumble of conversation beyond the doors tells Yunho that class is in session for many of the folks inside. Consequently, he’s not so keen on the idea of barging in. 

The canis plods through down the hall, unease stirring in his stomach. This particular hallway is identical to the last one he’d turned down and the one before that. If not for the numbers outside each identical door, he’d think he was going in circles.

Yunho gasps upon reading “1305” for the second time in the past ten minutes. He is going in circles. Panicked, he makes a deliberate point to go down the opposite direction of the forking path he’d turned right down before. The canis trudges on in hopes of finding some sign of life. 

  
Relief floods him when he sees a pair of double doors in front of him. Finally. Something different! A meaningful division in the building. He trots down the hall, praying that nobody in the classrooms notices him. Yunho bursts through the doors triumphantly with a grin. It feels utterly silly to him in retrospect since he’s faced with much more of the same. The same doors. Same tile on the floor. Same long hallways with excessively bright lighting. Same everything.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Yunho grumbles. He wrings a hand through his hair exasperatedly and searches the reaches of his mind for ideas. If only he could just call out to Hongjoong and ask him where he is.

“Wait-” Yunho mutters, pawing around his pockets. He gasps, withdrawing his slim, glassy comm from his pocket. “Duh.” He chuckles, animating the screen with his touch. “Okay. Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong… Message to- oof!” The canis gasps, freezing upon colliding with a poor, unsuspecting human.

The older gentleman lets out a low yelp, equally as surprised. Yunho hides his comm in haste as the man eyes him up and down. The heft of his gaze immediately makes the humecanis uncomfortable. He imagines not many of his kind make it to fancy schools like this. He must look suspicious. Of course, the nervous sweat he’s working up probably isn’t helping.

“Wh-Why! You’re here!” The man sounds almost relieved, wiping his palms on his coarse woven jacket. “Yes- Yes, your figure… So statuesque…” He walks around the canis observing him like a slab of meat. Yunho petrifies in place, absolutely taken aback by the utter objectification. He begs his malfunctioning brain to form words of protest, but nothing can come out.

“Yes- Yes, excellent, of course you’re here! Wow- Oh goodness, what a relief!” The strange human clutches his heart. “Why- I- The agency said you were going to cancel.”

“Um-” Yunho coughs awkwardly, ready to tell this guy he’s thinking of the wrong canis. He sure as hell isn’t interested in knowing what sort of “agency” is trafficking canises. The thought sickens him so severely that his vision starts to swim. “Listen, I-”

“And they even sent a humecanis! Oh yes, yes the students will love this. Come!”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Oh, no need to apologize, please! Come! You’re not ten minutes late. Oh this is fantastic. I was afraid I’d have to find another hologram - it’s just not the same, figure drawing from a hologram.”

“Uh- I-”

“No matter how sophisticated the equipment you can never truly capture the essence of the subject with mere points of light and crystal, can you?”

“Wha-” Suddenly, Yunho’s body jerks as he’s dragged into a nearby classroom. He whimpers, horrified and confused. Eyes wide, he lets himself get thrown into some sort of small office to the right of the entrance. There’s a small sitting area and desk, but most of the place appears to be storage for large paper and strange apparatuses for which Yunho can’t begin to guess a use. His brain churns with the hopes of coming up with some exit strategy.

“Well, I’ll let you get settled here. You can strip and just leave your affairs on that empty chair.”

Yunho’s thought process reaches a screeching halt, “ _ Excuse _ me?! Did you say strip?” 

What kind of university is this?!

“Why, yes, of course,” The man chuckles. “Why- Didn’t the agency tell you? You’ll be modelling nude for this job.” He turns to rifle through papers on his desk.

“Listen, I- I think there’s been a misundersta-”

“Here’s your payment,” The man presents Yunho with a wad of neatly stacked, crisp credit bills.

  
That shuts the canis right up.

His expression must have been fairly perturbed, because the man feels the need to follow up, “Of course this is just the first half. You’ll receive the rest of your payment upon completion. Per the policy.”

“The… Policy…” The gears in Yunho’s head start turning into another direction. He takes the morsels of information he’d managed to digest and starts threading them together. “Figure drawing”. “Drawing” - like art. Agency. Modelling.

Modelling.

“Young man, you seem rather confused. I- Are you sure you’ve come to the right classroom? Advanced Figure Drawing taught by me, Professor Rosse-”

“Yes!” Yunho flashes him a wide smile. “Yes, of course. I am your model. Your nude model. For your art drawing class. That’s- that’s me. My name is Yun- Yunjeong, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh the pleasure is mine, Yunjeong,” Professor Rosse says. “Now as I said before, I’ll go out, introduce the class. You get ready in here.” The man’s eyes do one more trip across the canis’s body. “Yes, very well. They’re going to enjoy drawing you.”

Yunho gives the man his most winning smile (hoping he doesn’t betray how nervous he is) and takes his money.

* * *

Jongho purses his lips, absentmindedly drawing a short line on the note paper Mingi apprehended. That brings the count up to seven. Seven out of eleven works he’d managed to skim so far describe Captain Maddox as having black hair. Those works they know to be right, therefore Jongho counts them as credible. Or, at least, slightly more credible than the ones who opted to depict him as having light brown or even red hair. Mingi actually managed to pull a comic book off of the interstel in which Captain Maddox had pink hair. He also had twinkly bright blue eyes and a pet dragon, so Jongho opted not to add that one to his list of possibly credible works.

He and Mingi had been at it for at least an hour, and Jongho can already feel his mind melt. Everything they pick up reads the same. Because it is the same. Because the story of the Compass and the journey for Treasure stays the same. There are slight differences here and there - normally in regards to romances or what the Treasure is. He’s not sure what they set out to find, but he sure as hell knows they’re not finding it.

“How’s it going for you, Mingi?” Jongho asks the Venusian.

Mingi appears entrenched in his reading. At least that makes one of them. In truth Jongho has skimmed everything. He assumed that Mingi was doing the same, yet he appears to be going through the book in his hands word for word.

“Mingi?” The younger tries again.

“Wh- Hm? What was that, Jongho?” Mingi asks, brows raised. He cradles his book a bit closer.

“Oh, I just wanted to know how you were doing.”

“Good. Good.”

“You, uh, find anything?”

“Um- Well- Not- not quite. But! But I do have a question,” He sets down his book briefly and picks up one of the tablets he’d been able to apprehend. He presents Jongho with an image, a scan of an old tome bordering ancient chronicling a story much the same to the one they’re investigating. “Look at this, doesn’t it look like handwriting- right here?”

Jongho leans forward and squints. The picture quality is fine, it’s the quality of the pages themselves that are not. Clearly it had been in bad condition when it’d been found and archived. There are stains, wrinkles and even tears all over the pages.

“Could just be an ink splotch or something,” Jongho says.

“Doesn’t it appear a bit… Strategic to be just an accident?”

“Sometimes accidents are strategic.”

“That completely contradicts what an accident is.”

“Well, they’re not strategic by intention but in retrospect they work out that way.”

“Then that’s not strategic. That’s just luck or happenstance. Strategy requires deliberation.”

“Who’s to say accidents aren’t the product of deliberation?”

“It wouldn’t be an accident, then, would it?”

Jongho shrugs, “Depends on who’s deliberating. An accident for someone can be a strategy for another.”

Mingi’s brows knit, and he genuinely contemplates the words that had come out of Jongho’s mouth. The younger tries not to laugh. In truth he’d just spit something out mostly to be contrarian. He does believe some of what he said, but the merits of strategic accidents certainly don’t build a ship he’d sink on.

“I’m gonna use the restroom. I’ll have my comm, okay?”

“Oh- Okay. You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Don’t risk losing the spot.”

“Okay,” Mingi gives him a happy little wave before returning to the volume he had been entrenched in.

Jongho flashes the other a smile and gets up. He sneaks a glance over at Mingi’s current reading, wondering what could possibly have captured his interest so thoroughly.

_ “Their gazes locked with one another, and Alexei felt time stop around them. _

__

_ He could not tell what things were running through the King’s head; the concubine struggled to sort out even his own thoughts. For the first time the two were facing one another, face to face without any physical restraints or separation. Though the two could not rightly be called equals with their current status, Alexei still felt as if they were facing one another as two people - humecanis and man. For the first time, the King got to genuinely meet his concubine...” _

Jongho powerwalks away so he can laugh freely. He’s glad to know Mingi is enjoying his time in the library. The younger takes a winding path toward the restroom. He’s in no particular rush, really. He takes in the grand reading room and the presence of all within it.

There’s a calm in the chaos that occupies the vast space. Every individual is on a journey of their own, striving for a degree or certificate in their chosen specialty. Within each person exists a universe entirely different yet so very similar to Jongho’s own.

He could have been one of them. He can’t stop thinking that as he walks around. How close he was to be one of these people. And what a blessing it would be to laze around a table and groan over schoolwork. To go out and get so drunk his guts turn inside out with friends. To participate in the unique and peculiar lifestyle that appears to exist in a brief bubble of life.

But he is not one of them.

Jongho does a few more rounds of the reading room. His walk is winding. It is without a destination but it is with purpose.

He spots Mingi far away - the Venusian’s head sticks out above most of the others. Mingi is occupied with his “research”, and Jongho would, of course, not dream of interrupting him. No, he thinks. He can leave Mingi just where he is.

Jongho eyes another cluster of public use PCs nearby. They’re all in use, so he waits. His patience rewards him in minutes, and the second a tall girl in coveralls steps away from the PC she used, Jongho jumps on the chance. He opens up the university browser hub and finds the search function. It takes him a few tries to determine the proper query. When he does, he uses the pen Mingi swiped off of a table and scratches his findings on his wrist. It’s not perfect but legible to him, and that’s what counts.

A strange pressure exerts itself on Jongho’s chest. He takes a deep breath and asks himself:

Do you really want to do this?

Eyes drifting to Mingi again, Jongho ruminates on the decision. It’s like a fork in the road. There are two paths he could take, and he doesn’t know which one he wants to go down. Mingi reads away, none the wiser. He probably wouldn’t even notice anything amiss or strange. However, it would be risky…

Sadness squeezes Jongho’s heart, and as the anguish spreads across his chest like thick vines from the trunk of a tree, he knows - the decision is made. 

“Stay put,” Jongho whispers. Though he’d said it in a figurative fashion to Mingi, part of him knows that the words are for himself.

Without another word, Jongho weaves between tables and passes around cliques and clusters of students. He tries to look as unremarkable as possible navigating the place. Then, finally, he finds himself back at the entrance. He sighs deeply, hoping to vent some of his jitters, and passes through the doors, leaving Mingi in the library.

Though the library is by no means loud, things feel infinitely quieter outside. All of the noise - the chatter of people passing by, the whistle of steam powered trolleys, the soft hiss of air passing through ducts, all of it - amalgamates into a general hum. The buzz resonates pleasantly in Jongho’s ears, calming him down. Though the decision he made is risky at best, he feels strangely assured in it.

“Excuse me?” A voice calls out.

Jongho freezes for an instant, turning to the stranger with wide eyes. 

The guy who’d stopped him looks like a student, but he’s wearing a badge with some sort of insignia on it. He extends a tablet toward Jongho and flashes the brunette a customer service-esque smile.

“Hi, I’m here with Take To The Sky. We were wondering if we could just have a few moments of your time to sign our petition for the sky whales.”

“Sky… What?”

“The sky whales- oh, you must be an exchange student,” The guy - an apparent ally to sky whales - chuckles. “Um, yeah. Every year they do their migration above the city, but as our city keeps building and developing up and up, it gets more dangerous for them. We want to lobby to put in legislation to limit how high towers can be built and the height for the public-”

“Sorry, I can’t right now,” Jongho blurts out. As much as he feels for the apparent sky whales (seriously, could they not have been better at naming the things?), he isn’t about to put down his name (or any name) onto a piece of paper. He remembers one of the recruiters who’d come to his secondary school mentioned that people rallied for signatures on campuses frequently. 

Jongho laughs to himself, “Guess I look like a student.” He muses aloud. The thought is bittersweet to him. Part of it is delightful, part of it pitiful. He tries to shake the thought out of his head and carry on, following the notes he’d scribbled on his skin.

University of Latumvor has a beautiful campus. Framed by tall, stately architecture, one can see the city bustling beneath and the clouds stirring above. The clouds even gave Jongho the courtesy of parting slightly, giving him a few freckles of sunlight on his paved journey west. Paths branch off from the student thoroughfare, branching off into other buildings - all campus property. Courtyards and outdoor lounge areas sit on the roofs of buildings. Students lounge and study lackadaisically, draping themselves across stone benches or simply laying on the grass. Every other dormitory balcony Jongho spots has clothes out drying, which he finds ironic due to the humidity. Some people hang flags off of the side of their balcony, and those that don’t hang them in the window. 

He passes others much like him. They’re similar in age, appearance, outward manner. It allows him to blend in easily. It also allows him to project easily. He tries to hold back his wistfulness, to reign in the remorse and sadness, but as time goes on it gets more difficult.

He’s been holding it in for so long.

Since before getting thrown into a cell. Since before the events that led to that life-changing event. He always held it in. Always had to be strong. At this point, Jongho half-wonders if he’s even capable of processing and expressing himself anymore. He had no idea he would become a fugitive. Even if he could predict such an outcome for his life, would it have changed anything? Probably not, he thinks. Now he just isn’t comfortable showing sadness, hurt or vulnerability to those around him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But walking around by himself, that of all things drags his emotions to the surface. He supposes that, on a subconscious level, part of his reason for taking this trek was to do just that.

To reopen old wounds, and to get hope that they could be healed.

“Bangyong Theater… Bangyong Theater… Bangyong-” Jongho’s brows raise as he approaches the building he’d been muttering to himself for the past quarter hour. His heart and stomach switch places, tossing restlessly in the cavities of his torso. He picks up his pace but tries not to appear too eager or suspicious.

The Bangyong Theater falls into line with the rest of the surrounding buildings, design-wise. It’s a fairly standard structure of brick with brass detailing, though something it has that most don’t is a holoreel. The projected sign reads in big, brightly lit letters:

  
“UL Conservatory First Year Showcase”

Jongho slows his pace as he approaches the entrance. He checks his surroundings, double checking to assure he’s not being watched. It’s silly, really. As if anyone would track him there. Even if they did, what are they going to do? Get upset at him for appreciating the arts as a non-student? A nervous sweat begins baking him from the inside out when he steps into the building.

* * *

Hongjoong sighs, gazing out a window. He and Prettyboy essentially did a walking tour of the entire damn building. They’ve yet to encounter so much as a sign of Yunho. Though he tried Yunho’s comm dozens of times, he still hasn’t gotten a response. The captain is starting to get worried, but the thought of revealing that to the personification of a glacier irks him. So, he holds it in. 

Eroded by various stressors, the captain declared a quick break time to rethink.

The two found themselves in a long, empty corridor on a far side of the building. One side boasts floor to ceiling windows. It’s a much welcome change to the nonstop doors, and it gives Hongjoong something meaningful to set his eyes on other than the former PO. Immediately outside the window through which he gazes lies a strip of land. Just beyond that, Hongjoong can see the edge of the land mass they’re on, the drop off to the city below. Being in blondie’s presence is starting to grate on him, and the idea of hurling himself off the edge of the precipice is getting more and more appealing.

“Hey- Where are you going?” Hongjoong snarls annoyedly. His fuse is short.

“Nowhere,” The platinum blond shuffles awkwardly.

“It doesn’t look like nowhere. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to sneak off.”

Prettyboy rolls his eyes and coils himself tighter. He’s been a ball of tension ever since their little argument. He’s kept his mouth shut, which is a plus, but somehow even when silent the mere aura he radiates sets Hongjoong off. The stress coming off of the guy is almost palpable. Hongjoong can’t imagine why the guy volunteered for their lifestyle. 

Not only is he disliked by everyone other than Yeosang - it’s clear as day that he’s more straightlaced than a damn corset. Someone could starch a steel-boned corset and lace it with glass and it still wouldn’t be as inflexible as PO Prettyboy. The guy’s already going mad and they haven’t done anything more than land on a planet and take a damn trolley ride. So, why across the universe’s many Earths, would the man sign up to align himself with a crew of fugitives and misfits?

“Just getting some space,” The blond utters, gaze shooting to the ground and arms crossed tightly.

Hongjoong narrows his eyes dubiously, “Some space by the corner of the hallway that you could easily slip through?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“What do  _ you  _ think?”

“If you take genuine issue with it I can move closer. If that’s what you want.”

“I- I don’t want that. I just want you to stop squirming.”

“Right. Yes, captain.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“You’re acting strange.”

“How so?”

“Wh- You- You know what? Never mind.” Hongjoong huffs. He’s probably still pouty about the words they exchanged earlier. The captain redirects his mental energy to Yunho - where he could possibly be and how to find him.

The two lapse into a silence, and while Hongjoong is happy not to be speaking to the other, the air between them is excruciating. His eyes dart over to the other a few times. Like burrs in the back of his head, his paranoia sticks persistently, disallowing him from putting down his guard around Prettyboy. At this point, he concedes that part of his anxiety is of his own making. He needs to somehow shed the constant thought that the other will run off or try something harmful. Logically, he knows that Prettyboy wouldn’t pull anything. There’s not much incentive to do it at that precise moment. Well, not much more than the obvious ones: revenge, glory, prestige, respect, money… 

Joong shakes the thoughts away, wringing a hand over his face. 

_ “Ding!” _

  
The shrill chirp of Hongjoong’s comm wakes him up from his daze. He hastily withdraws it from his pocket, eager for a distraction.

**wooyoung** : found something promising

**wooyoung** : secure parcel delivery for a local business

**wooyoung** : how do you want to proceed?

Hongjoong smiles, typing out a response quickly.

**hongjoong** : lets rendezvous

**hongjoong** : where are you lot? we can come to you

**wooyoung** : ill drop the coordinates

A series of numbers follows Wooyoung’s message. Hongjoong eagerly plugs them into the nav program on the comm to check the route. They’re not too far. No more than twenty minutes on foot, judging by distance. Same level, so no lift queues which is a plus.

**hongjoong** : find a watering hole nearby

**hongjoong** : we can meet you there but first

**hongjoong** : have you heard from yunho

**wooyoung** : isn’t he with you?

**hongjoong** : nevermind

Hongjoong heaves a sigh. At this rate, he’ll start making up bad stories in his head as to what happened to Yunho. The university’s grounds appear rather safe, but sometimes the most dangerous situations are the most innocuous ones. The captain can far too easily picture numerous ugly scenarios in which the other is hurt, harassed or even taken. He shudders at the thought of them all.

“Captain!” A boisterous voice echoes down the corridor. Hongjoong gasps, his mood immediately lifting upon hearing the familiar voice. “Thought I smelled you,” Yunho beams, trotting down the long hall to reunite with the others.

“What th- Where the fuck were you!” Hongjoong smacks his best friend on the shoulder when he’s close enough to reach. “I was starting to freak out!”

“Captain- Captain!” Yunho grabs Hongjoong by the shoulders and shakes him. His eyes are wide and his tail wagging almost frantically. “You are not gonna believe the crazy shit that goes on in this place.”

“I- Wait- What?” Joong’s brows furrow. “What is it- is it bad? Yunho did you see something-”

“Did you know they’ve got classes where people just sit around in a circle and draw people?”

“Um- Oh, I mean, I guess that would be, uh- what is that? A- A figure drawing cla-”

Yunho exclaims so loudly his voice echoes down the hall, “And they’re  _ naked _ !”

  
  


* * *

“What about Mingi and Jongho?” The significantly calmer humecanis asks, sliding into the booth at the bar Wooyoung picked for them. The six present chose a relatively remote place to sit. Thankfully, the early afternoon hour draws the bargain-seeking crowd, giving them the camouflage of the crowd. They even ordered a few ales and even a dish to share, their fee for obscurity. For the most part, anyone not listening in would assume they’re regular students.

“Mingi messaged me,” Wooyoung shrugs, “Says they’re making good progress. Figured they could meet us later on site.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hongjoong says with a grin. The thought of learning anything about Captain Maddox, the Treasure or the Compass makes him giddy inside. He wishes more than anything that he could crack the thing open and take a gander inside, but the device is locked tight. He prays the studious pair will return with something insightful. “So, tell us about this job you guys found. Where did you find it? What’s it about?”

Wooyoung nods, “Well, Latunvor is a pretty happening hub, as you can see. I hit a starcomm hub and made a few calls. Through a few degrees of separation I managed to find a pseudo connection here.”

“You did what to find what?” Yunho asks confusedly, mouth half-full with a ball of deep fried something.

“He’s saying he knows people here,” Yeosang elaborates with an amused smirk. Figures it’s the genius who simplifies things.

“Oh. You know people here? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t  _ know  _ know them,” Wooyoung answers. “I just know people- well, really I know names. And the right names can get you in with the right people. Anyways, my person in town linked me up with our employer. It’s a simple gig, really. Security for some cargo containers, that’s all. They just want bodies on the automated freighter for extra insurance. We’d basically be sitting on the thing for six hours - three to the port and three back.”

“How much does it pay?” The captain asks.

“Ten thousand. Three down on site, the other seven upon transferring goods to the contact at the other station.”

The platinum blond, waking up from his strange daze, balks, “And who, exactly, is paying ten-thousand credits for a bunch of guards to sit on a train?”

Wooyoung doesn’t miss a beat when he responds, “Local business.” 

Prettyboy gasps, very obviously picking up on the fact that said business is likely not a legitimate, law-abiding one. “And you trust these people?”

“I do, actually. You could say they’re a… Partner of a conglomerate I’m familiar with. They’re good for the money. They don’t pull dirty shit. A lot of small businesses don’t, actually, in spite of what films and stereotypes say,” Wooyoung tells the other coolly.

The blond flashes Hongjoong of all people an imploring look. The wordless request begs the man in charge to speak out in opposition of the questionable business. But the money’s too good, and Hongjoong does trust Wooyoung’s judgment - especially when it comes to what one may call “alternative” employment. This is his wheelhouse. The guy survived like that for years after withdrawing from the blackcoat ranks.

“If Woo trusts it, I trust it. The money’s too good to ignore, plus the job’s easy. We just board the freighter, right?”

“We can stand guard in shifts,” San adds, idly swirling his glass of ale.

“If the proposal sounds good, I can hit the starcomm place nearby and accept the contract.”

“Over the phone?” Prettyboy blurts out doubtfully, face squashed in confusion.

“Uh-” Woo chuckles, clearly amused with baby’s first sketchy job. “Yeah. Industry standard is business conducted, er, over the phone. Y’know. Like a verbal handshake contract? Everyone does that.”

Hongjoong pointedly raises his brows at the blond, a nonverbal “I told you so”. He hasn’t forgiven the ex-blackcoat for being a dick, and he sure as hell didn’t forget the asshole ridiculing him for citing a verbal contract. The turn of fate is truly something incredible, the captain muses. As much as he’d like to bask in the other’s very apparent discomfort, he wants to assure he’s informed of their job specs first.

“Tell me the details,” Hongjoong says. “Is it really just hop on the freighter and get off?”

“Oh, wait-” Yeosang cuts in, “Let me. I took notes.” He rests his chin on his hand and blinks a few times. Suddenly, his green eyes illuminate, emitting a projection for all to see. The hologram displays a simple text document breaking down details (and notated with a few extra, more personal remarks from Yeo).

Wooyoung points to the projection and explains in a low voice, “Freighter goes out at midnight sharp. It’s leaving from the AI yard. We’re to arrive no earlier than fifteen minutes prior to departure. Given that it’s a place for the automated trains, obviously it’s weird for people to be hanging around too much. Our contact will give us an in, and we’ll ride with the cargo.”

Yunho asks, “Um- What is the cargo, anyway? Is it dangerous? Like- Explosives-”

“Actually,” Yeosang responds, “I asked that.” The projection scrolls down to show more of his notations. He points to a line with an asterisk next to it, “Our contact said, and I quote: ‘I’ll pay you an extra ten percent never to ask that question again’, end quote.”

“Our job is to assure its safety, not its quality,” Wooyoung adds. “Three hours to the station, we hand it off our receiver. The freighter turns back around, we meet our contact back at the yard and we’re clear. Easy.”

“Too easy,” The too-pretty blond scoffs.

“You’re not being held by gunpoint, you know. You can leave at any time,” Hongjoong replies annoyedly. The blond simply pouts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms like a petulant teenager. Joong ignores it.

“So,” San, content to ignore the blond completely, speaks up, “You really couldn’t have had trouble getting ahold of Mingi and Jongho, too?”

Joong and Yunho both shake their heads, “Uh, yeah.” “We got no response.” They say at the same time.

“Should we be worried about them?” Yeo asks. He blinks, shutting off the projection from his eyes. “I mean, the message he sent Woo was from a while ago.”

“If it was just Mingi, I’d be terrified,” Yunho says. “But he’s with Jongho.”

“True.” “That’s a valid point.” “Yeah.” A few mutter in response.

“Still,” Hongjoong nibbles on his bottom lip. He wasn’t worried until Yeosang asked if they ought to be. Now, his stomach turns ever so slightly with unease. He curses himself for being so easily affected. Worrying is like breathing to him, it’s second nature, it’s how he processes emotions and expresses his care for people. So, now he’s worried. Dammit. “Isn’t it kind of strange that they’ve been so sparse all day? All they’ve been doing is sitting at a library. What’s keeping them from sending a message back?”

“I-” Yunho clamps his mouth shit, his face scrunching into a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe we should… Check on them.”

“They need to know the job specs, anyway,” The captain responds. “Let’s just go over there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” “Might as well.” “Can we finish our ale, first?” “Sure.”

“Guess there’s no need to rush. We’ve got over six hours to get to the job site. Woo’s gotta go confirm the contract, anyway,” Hongjoong nods. 

The captain sits back, finally taking a sip of his long neglected ale. The wheaty, watery taste washes over his mouth, effectively purging any other taste or smell he could possibly perceive. God, it’s shit. Yet, something about that shit is comforting to him. There’s a familiarity to it. To watery ale and a worn out booth in the back corner of a bar. It’s an experience he’s lived many times before. And, though he’s known most of the people surrounding him for just over a month, their company feels familiar, too.

  
Their conversation lapses into something nonsensical bordering inappropriate. They bat at each other, laugh loudly and argue about matters that are completely trival. Just as friends do. Hongjoong lets himself enjoy it. He savors the cheap swill the bar advertised as an ale, and he savors the presence of those around him even more. Soon, they’ll be off to collect their other brothers and go on a job. Until then, he sees no reason not to enjoy himself in a bar with some friends.

They are fugitives, outcasts, sirens and runaways. They are on the run from the law, taking verbal contracts from shadowy figures. But, for that brief spell of time, first and foremost:

They are young.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Jongho watches, enraptured, as the beautiful pianist's fingers gracefully glide across the ivory keys. Beneath the stage lights, she looks like an angel, a halo of radiant light making her glow. An ache hollows his chest as he watches the piano student's performance. Though she plays impeccably, there is a hesitance to her aura, nervousness. The self-doubt is apparent in the fervent concentration with which she plays the piece, the way her brow furrows, the tensity of her expression. In spite of her anxiety, she powers on, executing the excruciatingly familiar nocturne superbly. Jongho dabbled in piano but never committed. He's certain someone with keen expertise could nitpick the student's technique, but to him, the performance is nothing short of breathtaking.

He scoots to the edge of the velveteen seat and drinks it in with bated breath. There's an epicness to the busy etude, a drama that almost dares the player to mess up. A looming tension hangs over his head because of it. He feels as if it will drop on him at any moment, and that thought is what keeps him on the precipice for the entire time, hanging on every last note, every little sound that the hovering spider mics up above capture. He can't help thinking everyone else around him feels the same. Save for the piano notes thrumming throughout the theater, there's not a sound to be heard. Nobody even dares glance at their portable comms nor do they whisper quietly to one another.

Without realizing it, the ethereal pianist commands the attention of hundreds. Beneath the illumination of the spotlights, she plays on, so very tuned out to the world around her, completely honed in on the piece. Breathtaking.

The piece picks up, and her small fingers move frenetically in tempo. If being of such small stature is detrimental to her, one would never be able to tell. Surely nobody else notices the things Jongho does - her tensity, her deliberation, and the care she puts into performing. As the music rounds out to a conclusion, Jongho finds himself holding his breath. Her fingers fly across the board, delivering the flamboyant finish to the showy piece. It's the last of three that she played - and the last of the exhibition. She finishes flawlessly, the silence in the wake of her sound leaving a void.

Jongho rises to his feet with the rest of the crowd, joining them in thunderous applause. The beautiful pianist stands up and bows before the master of ceremonies - some member of the music program's board - steps in to praise the student and wrap up festivities. Jongho plops back onto his seat (an unassuming spot toward the very back) and lets the performance wash over him. Shortly after the faculty's remarks, the lights come on, and the audience begins to disperse. Jongho scarcely even registers the people shuffling awkwardly past him to get out of their row. He lets out a few grunts, something vaguely sounding like "sorry" and "excuse me", but his eyes never leave the stage.

He stares at the empty stage even after only a few linger, face blank as he watches, almost as if waiting for it all to start up again like a film reel. He wonders: what does it look like from there, from the stage? Would one even be able to make out a single face in the crowd? Or do the many meld into a single, amalgamous shadow? Of course, no matter how well lit the crowd is, he's certain nobody would be able to see him. It doesn't stop him from pondering, though.

Jongho steels himself with a deep breath before finally getting out of his seat. He quietly shuffles out of the auditorium, head down. As he passes through the exit doors, the smell of humidity and cut grass tickles his nose. He walks slowly and scans his surroundings cautiously. It's dark out, now. A few amber streetlights illuminate the yard around the theater, revealing that it's a quiet part of campus at this time, apparently. Some spectators and staff linger around the theater and chat, but it appears that the majority have already dispersed.

Jongho briefly wonders if there's some type of tradition where they go out post-show. He remembers when he performed in school, after stage performances, all of the choirs, bands and soloists would pile into the restaurant across the street. They'd all laugh and joke, ties loosened and formal shoes swapped out for comfortable sneaks. They would reminisce over videos taken of their performance and snap picture after picture after picture. The sheer amount of bodies in the place always brought the temperature up to uncomfortable, sauna-esque levels, yet it never stopped them from crowding closer to one another in the booths and eating spicy food on dares.

That was so long ago. At least, it feels that way.

The fugitive sighs, pulling himself out of his nostalgic reverie. He came here for a reason. Jongho eyes the auditorium doors and watches as the performers begin trickling out. He finds himself at a fork in the road. He can do this or he can not. He can turn back now, make up an apology for Mingi and forget this ever happened. He can leave with the bittersweet memory of a beautiful concert exhibition, a piano-playing angel and a velveteen theater seat.

But he knows he would have regrets. More than he already does.

Jongho's gaze follows the form of a performer as she waves goodbye to someone and heads off down one of the many high streets jutting off of the main thoroughfare. Thought gets thrown out of the window, and Jongho's feet carry him in the same direction.

It's a quiet night, and it gets even quieter as he distances himself from the university. Tall towers taper off into smaller duplexes and apartment buildings. He assumes they're all student housing. A few people sit out on balconies, the tips of their cigarettes glowing like fireflies in the night. Some walk the streets, carting totes of groceries or completely tuned out to the world while they hover on boards down the street.

The further he walks, the deeper the trench in Jongho's gut gets. He has no doubt that every person in every little apartment or duplex or capsule unit struggles every day with their efforts toward school, toward life. But, god, does he long for that struggle sometimes. After getting swept away with ATEEZ, Jongho forgot about all of it - or, perhaps neglected is the better term. But now that he's walking down an off-campus road, every little thing is a reminder of the life he could have had.  _ Almost  _ had. With each step forward he picks at the old wound he'd gotten when they arrested him. That feeling of loss and helplessness comes back in an instant.

He by no means dislikes or begrudges his companions on ATEEZ. On the contrary, it's Captain Hongjoong's quick thinking that allowed him to even walk semi-freely. It's the company of the bright Venusian Mingi and the kindhearted Wooyoung that have helped fill the hole in his heart just a little. Still, while he has come to appreciate his fellow crew members as brothers, they are not replacements for the life he left. For the people he left.

Jongho wrings a hand through his hair, willing his brain to give him a break. It's like he'd walked into quicksand without even realizing it. Just as he considers that maybe his entire little walk was a bad idea, something captures his attention.

Or, more accurately, the lack of something captures his attention.

"Huh?" Jongho grunts, head whipping around in every direction. She's gone. His silent tour guide is gone. "How?" He hisses under his breath, eyes wide, heart rate hastening with increasing anxiety. He walks forward to an intersection, looking every which way, but there's nothing. Had she gotten home without him realizing? But when?

"Shit," He hisses. The reality that he might be lost dawns on him, making his guts twist more. He knows his comm has a map of sorts, but will he be able to make sense of it? And how will he be able to explain his being lost to the rest of the crew?

Things are dark at the intersection, the designated amberlight flickering weakly, its UV charging clearly malfunctioning. Jjong wanders forward, even approaching a few buildings and crossing the street a few times in hopes of regaining his bearings. Unfortunately, his wandering has the opposite effect. Jongho turns around and grimaces.

Everything looks the same.

_ Shit _ .

Suddenly, a shadow flashes in his peripherals. He just barely discerns the anomaly beneath the weak, strobing amberlight. He responds in an instant, not even thinking before catching the fist flying toward him. He hears a gasp, and the shadowy figure curses under their breath. Jongho finds himself feeling more perturbed than affronted, his brows furrowing with confusion.

"Crap-!" The figure squeaks, flailing about.

Jongho keeps a steady hold on the person's fist - it's tiny, the bones feeling delicate and the skin soft. He fears holding too firmly will crush the person's bones, so he concentrates on keeping the force exerted appropriate. Another blur of shadow goes toward him, and Jongho catches that, too, with ease.

"Your right hook's better," He comments cooly, trying not to sound amused.

The petite person flails about angrily, "L-Let me go! Let me go!" They demand. "Let go of me you- you creepy pervert!"

"Huh- Wait- Wh-What?!" Jongho gasps, heat rushing to his face.

"I- I have a mini-stun, you know, and I'm so not afraid to use it!" They try to wrest one of her hands away, and Jongho lets them. He releases both of their hands, and the person scrambles to reach into their coat pockets.

"Okay, I- I know it's crazy, but-"

"Get away from me!" The petite figure quickly withdraws the aforementioned mini-stun - a tiny apparatus about the size of a pen. Though small, the device still has imposition. They hold exactly one high-potency stun charge for the purpose of self-defense. After experiencing a stun bolt himself, Jongho is not eager to repeat the experience.

Throwing his hands up, Jjong steps back, "Wait-! Hold on, I-"

"That's right, back it up you- you sick fuck!"

"Hold on-"

"I said back up!"

"Hey, hey, hey, wait- I- I just wanna talk to you-"

"I'm gonna count down from five."

"Please-"

"Four."

"No, no, don't- I-"

"Three."

"It's me-"

"Two."

"Ch-"

"One-!" "Wait!" __

_ "Buzzt." _

With a soft, staticy noise the flickering amberlight rights itself, revealing the scene beneath in vivid, orange light. Any onlooker would likely find it comical, a tiny girl brandishing a mini-stun at some guy's neck like it's a knife. Jongho opens his eyes (which he squeezed shut out of reflex) slowly. Slowly, the kneejerk fear of being stunned dwindles, replaced by a new kind of tension. The nervousness balloons in Jongho's stomach, filling him up to his throat, practically suffocating him from the inside out. His heart rate doubles, and suddenly he completely forgets everything he wanted to say. All of those hours laying awake in bed, the downtime between planets, the scenes scripted in his head like a screenplay - they're all lost. He's left with a mind completely blank, lips parted but completely incapable of forming words.

"No," The pianist whispers, her hands dropping. "It- It can't be-"

"H-Hi, Chaeyeon," Jongho can barely deliver the words. His fingers itch - his entire body itches - with nerves, anxiety, dread, regret, despair and want.

"J-Jongho?" Chaeyeon reaches out timidly as if to check if he's real. Jongho takes initiative to grab her hand and squeezes it, making sure she knows. The petite pianist squeezes back weakly, the slightest shiver coming over her body. "Jongho how- how are you here? Why are you here?"

Jjong can hear the wobble in her voice, and he hates himself for being the cause of it. A rush of emotion washes over him. He battles to keep it at bay, to be that rock he always was for her - at least, always wanted to be.

"I- I had to-"

"You had to what?" She sniffs, and her voice raises. She meets Jongho's gaze with wet eyes. In spite of her sadness, in spite of the tears just about ready to burst out, she speaks adamantly. "You had to what?!"

"I needed to see you-"

"You left me, Jongho!"

There it is, the bullet shot straight through his chest. His body momentarily seizes up, and he squeezes her hand just ever so slightly harder.

"Chae-"

"You- You left me! You- You messed it up, Jongho! You messed everything up!"

Jongho frowns, blinking away tears, "I- I know. I know that-"

"Do you? Do you, really?" She cries. "Do you know how much I cried, Jongho? Do you- do you know what they said about me after that happened?"

"I know. I'm sorry," As phlegmatic and strong as he is, Jongho finds himself being broken down. "I messed up. I-"

"You ruined everything, Jongho!" Chaeyeon cries openly now, cheeks ruddy and body shaking. "You ruined everything! We were supposed to be in this together!"

"I know. I know I did, and I'm sorry," He tries to sound soothing, to not betray how upset he is seeing her so upset. The truth is, he knows he deserves it. He deserves every bit of guilt and every bad thing that comes his way. Sometimes, he still thinks he'd be better off rotting in a prison cell, that it'd be a more fitting penance than wandering the galaxy free.

"You- you should be!" Tears stream down her face. "You should be, you bastard! For- for-" She sniffs between words, "For leaving me alone, Jongho."

"I know. I- I know I ruined it, and I'm sorry. I never wanted to leave you."

"You should've stayed gone. What-- what do you w-want from me?" Chaeyeon trembles. Jongho has to make an effort to root himself in place. His heart and body cry out, longing to hold her and quell her, to hold her so tight she can barely breathe and never, ever let go. The pain in his chest delves even further, but, as he so often does, he grits his teeth and bears it.

"I had to see you," Jongho's voice comes out a mere whisper.

"I- I can't- I can't do this. I'm- I'm through with you, okay. I am  _ through  _ with you," Chaeyeon takes her hands back and starts trudging away.

"If you're through with me, why did you play our song?" Jongho says.

The pianist stops in her tracks. Her shoulders slump, and she heaves a sigh.

"It was beautiful, by the way," Jongho tells her, approaching her slowly. "You were beautiful."

"I can't... How are you here?" Chaeyeon whimpers.

Jongho turns her around and wraps his arms around her gingerly, "That isn't important. I don't have much time, though."

"I- How- How do I even know you're- you're real right now? What if I just- just passed out on the ground or something? What if I'm dreaming?!"

Jongho chuckles and cups her face, handling it like the delicate, precious thing that it is. He swipes away a tear trail with his thumb and leans in. Chaeyeon grasps the front of Jongho's shirt and returns it with desperation. Another rush washes over through Jongho. Everything surges through him violently, unapologetic and merciless - the worry, the regrets, the want, the desperation, the adoration, the sadness and loneliness. The two lapse into something feverish, making up for lost time. Five weeks may as well have been fifty years to them. Though it may not sound like a long time apart, no calendar could possibly quantify the loss Jongho felt after being completely isolated from everyone he loved. Especially from her.

When they part, it remains quiet between them for a minute. Jongho waits for Chaeyeon to speak first. He lets himself savor the sensation of having her in his arms again. The pianist leans forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder and speaking into his chest.

"Jongho, why did you come here?" She asks again, weakly.

"I had to see you," He answers.

"Yeah. Well-" She sniffs, "-here I am."

Jongho breaks, a silent sob tearing through his lungs. He squeezes her tight, and the two cling to one another for another few minutes. When he manages to piece himself together enough, Jongho breaks the silence.

"Let me walk you home?"

Chaeyeon nods weakly. The two disentangle, interlacing their fingers and continuing their journey down the deserted road. The quiet between them is heavy, and Jongho can't bear it, so he asks her:

"How are things?"

"Hm?"

"How are things for you now? What's it like here?" Jongho glances around wistfully.

Chaeyeon sniffles, "O-Oh. It's- it's alright. You know."

"Just alright?"

"I mean, it's- it's a great school. Pretty fun, really. Lots of cool programs and stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Y-Yeah. The, um, the vocal program's pretty good, I hear. But-" Finally, a glimmer of sunlight through the rainclouds, the tiniest hint of a smile crosses her lips, "I mean, the guys are..."

Jongho raises his brows, panic spiking for an instant, "What- What about the guys?!"

Chaeyeon laughs, "I mean they're good, but, like, vocally- honestly? You'd totally kick their asses."

"O-Oh."

"What? What'd you think I was gonna say?"

"Nothing," Jongho tries to laugh it off. "I'm proud of you."

"A-Ah. What for?"

"Your performance. I was serious when I said it was beautiful."

"Yeah, well. Thanks. Hopefully, the faculty agrees," She laughs wryly. "Jongho?"

"Hm?"

"I- You- Should I even ask what you're doing?" The pianist nibbles on her bottom lip nervously, wet eyes delving into Jongho's own.

"I told you, I needed to see you. That's all."

"I- I know. I get that, but I mean-" She glances around a few times and her voice lowers into a hushed, secretive tone. "Jongho, what have you been doing since the jailbreak? H-How did you get here?"

Jongho's stomach roils with nervousness. That's a loaded question if he's ever heard one. It would almost make more sense to ask what hasn't he done since the jailbreak. The answer to that would probably be "following the law".

"What do you know? Or- what have you heard?"

Chaeyeon frowns, "Well, um, honestly not much. Your name came up when the jailbreak happened. They said you apprehended a ship and were being pursued. In less than a day the newsreel moved on. Wait, did you get here on that stolen-!"

"Shh!" Jongho shushes her, "Not so loud!"

"Sorry."

"I- I did get here. On a ship. I have been... Getting by. Traveling a lot. Odd jobs." It's about seventy-five percent truthful, which Jjong hopes she'll take.

"Yeah? Are you happy?"

"I-" Another ball of emotion rises in Jongho's throat. He stubbornly swallows it down, willing himself not to cry. "I find happiness in things I can."

"I- I'm glad. I'm really glad," Chaeyeon nods tearfully, flashing him a weak smile.

"What about you?"

"Um- Same. Same as you. It's hard here. But- but I've made some pretty good friends!"

"Me too, yeah."

"Really? I'm- That's good. Not too scary, I hope. What with the, um, fugitive thing- oh my gosh- I can't believe I said that, I'm sorry, I-"

Jongho chuckles, "It's fine. They're... Not not shady, but they're kind."

"That's good. I think. Kind gangsters. Better than mean ones, I guess."

"They're not gangsters."

"They're not?"

"Not- Well, not exactly. Listen, I can hold my own."

"I- Of course you can. I know. I know, I just-"

"You worry too much."

"How can I not? You- I mean you- After what happened..." She stops, the air around her tainting with despair yet again.

"Chae-"

"I'm sorry, Jongho."

Jongho crosses in front of her, tipping her chin up so their eyes can meet again, "You don't need to apologize."

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Yeonie-"

"I- I lashed out at you. Tried to redirect the blame, but- but-" She hiccups, sobs threatening to arise yet again. "It was my fault."

"No, no it wasn't-"

"Yes it was-"

"None of it was your fault. None of it."

"But what happened-"

"I chose to do what I did and- yeah, things escalated, but I stand by my actions."

"You would never have had to do that if it- it wasn't for me-"

"Don't talk like that. What's done is done!"

"How can you say that?!" Chaeyeon cries. "How can you say that when I'm here and you're- you're running from one place to the next?! And it's all because of me?"

"You got taken advantage of-"

"I was the idiot who sent him those pictures! I trusted him when I shouldn't have! And it's you who has to pay for that, Jongho! You!"

"Baby," Jongho coos. He presses a kiss on her forehead before guiding her further into the shadows. He leads her into a narrow alleyway. It's not much in ways of privacy, but it gets them something. Stroking her hair, he reassures her again, "Your trust was taken advantage of."

"But you're the one paying the price," She sniffles. "We- We had a plan, Jongho. We had a plan. We were going to come here and- and do the music program, make music and perform together. I ruined it. I'm sorry for blaming you, I- I'm sorry-"

"Stop apologizing. It's me who flew off the handle."

"Only because I messed up and ran crying to you, hoping you'd clean up my mess like you always did."

"Chaeyeon, I'm sorry that my actions led to us being apart. I'm sorry that you had to go through everything you've gone through. But, honestly, I'm not sorry for what I did to that fucker. He took advantage of you, violated you- I bet he did that to other people, too. So don't apologize. I'm glad you came to me. I love that you rely on me, I- I've  _ always  _ wanted to be the one you can rely on." Jongho cups her face again. "I guess what I'm most sorry about is the fact that I can't be that person anymore." He sniffs, blinking back the tears stinging his eyes. Desperate to lighten the mood, to do something to cheer Chaeyeon up, he adds, "Though, from what I can tell, you're doing pretty well."

"Huh?"

"Hiding away? Cornering me with a mini-stun?" He cracks a smile. "That was pretty good."

"O-Oh," In spite of everything, Chaeyeon lets out a weak giggle. "Sorry."

"No, no. I loved it. It was kind of sexy, the way you threatened me with that thing."

"Oh my god. I take back my redaction, you are a pervert."

"Only for you."

"That's- I'm not sure if that's sweet or not."

Jongho cringes at his own stupid ramblings. He's disappointed but not surprised. His brain always turns to mush in Chaeyeon's presence. Always has. He goes from self-assured to idiot clown who trips over his words and does stupid stuff to impress the cute person.

"I dunno either, but it made you smile, so that's worth it to me."

Chaeyeon's weak grin widens at that. She shakes her head, heaving a sigh.

"I- What is- what is this? What is going on? I don't even know anymore."

"I-" Jongho shrugs, "I can't say I came with a concrete plan. Or, at least, I did have one at one point, I think, but... I dunno. I had so many things to say and now I'm just blank."

"Yeah, I- me too."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. I- I guess in my head I rehearsed what I'd say to you if... If I ever saw you again. I never thought I would, though. But! Here you are!" She giggles softly.

"Sure am. I- I'm sorry again if I- if this- me being here is- is bad. I'm sorry if this mess with your process or whatever. I know I- I know me being here, this was selfish."

"Jjong," Chaeyeon pouts, "I'm tired of apologies."

"Oh. I'm s- mm."

"Listen, I don't know if you being here is good or not. Maybe it's bad. Maybe it's a mistake, I don't know and neither do you. But I think we can both agree that we miss each other. At least, I miss you-"

"I miss you, too. So much."

"So then, whatever little time left, can we just try to enjoy it? At least for a bit?"

Jongho nods, holding back more tears. It's been so long since he's felt this raw. It's like everything he'd kept dammed up for not just months but years is trying to make its way out.

"Okay. Okay, yeah."

Chaeyeon smiles, reaching out to grab his hand, "Okay. Good. Because my flat isn't far from here."

"Oh."

"But, um. My roommates aren't super nosy, so, I think if we're quiet enough they won't notice I'm harboring a fugitive."

" _ Oh _ ."

* * *

_ “I-” The King hesitated again. His gaze met Alexei's, and he hushed his voice, “I know that you are not a possession, yet… I cannot suppress my desire to possess you.” _

  
  


_ “I am already your property, surely that must be satisfying,” Alexei replied. Something in his chest twisted and writhed. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his majesty's, but his discerning gaze yielded little insight. _

  
  


_ “You misunderstand me. I do not wish to possess you as property. That is not nearly enough to sate me.” His highness’s thumb rested at the edge of Alexei's lips... _

_ "Buzz. Buzz." _

Mingi jumps, startled, and nearly sends the book he'd been entrenched in flying. The Venusian's head whips around, wondering if anyone noticed. Thankfully, all of the students appear completely occupied with their own devices and tasks. Mingi coughs awkwardly, scanning his surroundings just to be certain nobody had been looking. He glances at the page number before closing the book and tending the source of the vibration.

The comm is simplistic and streamlined. Though not nearly as automated and intuitive as Venusian communication technology, Mingi finds it impressive for having been thrown together and built from scrap. It takes some doing to unearth the device. Finally, he manages to find it beneath a couple of print books he'd piled up.

Mingi taps his way onto the messenger screen and sees an alert from the Captain himself:

**Hongjoong** : we have a job, we'll meet you two at the library. stay put.

Mingi nods, setting the comm down and reaching for his novel again. His hand grazes the worn cloth binding, and before he grabs it, the captain's words set in.

"We'll meet you two at the library. Stay put."

That means they are coming to him. They are on their way, and they could be very near. Mingi's eyes widen, and panic spikes in his chest. Yes, he and Jongho had been studying, but their findings haven't been as concrete as he'd hoped. He didn't anticipate the crew finding a job so soon and thought he had much more time.

"Fucking shit, ♐︎●︎⍓︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◻︎◆︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎♏︎⬧︎," He curses under his breath, frenziedly grabbing for the nearest relevant book.

"Jongho, did you see that message?" Mingi asks, skimming the volume in front of him as if his very life depends on him. The younger man doesn't answer, which makes the stressed Venusian bristle. "Jongho, did you hear me? I asked if you saw the message."

Still nothing. Mingi supposes the other is likely absorbed in studying. Even so, the crew's arrival is important, and he ought to at least acknowledge it. Mingi pouts, trying again more loudly.

"Jongho, I said, did you see th-" The Venusian halts upon turning his head and seeing that there is no Jongho. "Huh?"

The Venusian glances around curiously. Had the other wandered off without him noticing? Sure, he went to the bathroom, but that was quite a while ago. Mingi assumed the other returned when he wasn't looking.

"Jongho?" Mingi calls out quietly, trying not to rouse too much attention. His brows knit with confusion, and he calls out again, "Jongho?"

There's no sign of the other. No verbal response or visual indicates that the other is nearby.

"Should I be worried?" Mingi mutters to himself. He briefly contemplates the validity of such worry. There are a number of things that could have happened. Jongho could have gotten lost. He could have been taken. He could be stuck on the toilet with bowel issues. But, he took his comm - he surely would have contacted someone if he had issues. Plus, it's Jongho, the toughest member of their crew.

The Venusian shrugs the other's absence off before returning to his frenzied last-minute reading.

* * *

_ "I'm sorry," Chaeyeon cried, hands clutched tightly in her lap, head bowed down in shame. "I'm sorry. I promise it was from before. Before you and I-" _

_ "I know," Jongho replied, rage scarcely suppressed. Lividity surges through his veins, setting him alight in a way he never knew possible. It boils his insides. _

_ "What- What should I do, Jjong?" _

_ "I'll take care of it," He replied tersely, swiping the projected screen away angrily. _

_ "Jjong? Wh- Where are you going?" Chaeyeon followed after him as he charged out of the living room in her family house. He didn't even bother giving a polite farewell to her parents, who called after him inquisitively. Chaeyeon babbled at his tail, begging him to stop, to wait, asking him what he's going to do, where is he going? _

_ "I just want to talk," Jongho grunted over his shoulder. _

_ Lee Chaeyeon was an angel. A beautiful, sweet, kind soul who never hurt anyone. Gorgeous inside and out, Jongho pined for her for years. Having grown up down the street from one another, the two had gotten  _ introduced in their _ first year of school and had been inseparable ever since. They shared so many things, so many ups and downs. They walked to school together and watched movies together. Chaeyeon had been there to coach Jongho before he went on his first date, and Jongho had been there to comfort her when she had her first heartbreak. _

_ When their last year of school began, Jongho knew he had to tell her. At that point, they hadn't decided where they would go, and Jjong couldn't bear separating without telling her his true feelings. He hadn't expected her to reciprocate, and nothing had prepared him for the rush of elation and utter joy he felt when she'd leapt into his arms and giggled, squealing "Finally!" before peppering his face with kisses. _

_ Apparently, some vengeful ex of hers had not been so thrilled. Though they had just graduated, they couldn't let things go, they had to have one last hurrah, one last gesture of vengeance on someone entirely undeserving of any malice. The moments after discovering what that person did remain a blur to Jongho. It happened a few months into the academic year. He saw the post on the unofficial imageboard students kept among themselves. By the time he got to it, dozens had already left deplorable comments. Hundreds had seen it. All Jongho saw was red. Raging, seething, angry red. His best friend, the girl he loved, had been utterly violated. Some disgusting monster had taken advantage of her trust and her lapse in judgment to make her the object of ridicule. And Jongho knew no other way to cope with that than to sort things out himself. He had to intervene. He couldn't stand by and watch as his beloved was subjected to torment. He couldn't. _

_ He ended up finding himself back at the school. The fifteen-minute walk reduced itself to a mere blur, contracted by his pure rage. He recalled that the perpetrator happened to be in student government, and student government happened to meet on weekday evenings. _

_ "Jjong, please- wait!" Chaeyeon called after him. _

_ But Jongho ignored her. _

_ At that point, something in him had snapped. He felt almost hungry, like a cavernous hole had delved in his stomach, and only one thing could satisfy his craving. _

_ Jongho stormed up the steps and into the building, ignoring the greetings from the custodial faculty. He couldn't recall what room student government met only - only that it happened to be on the second floor. So, logically, he checked all of them. After hours, the doors were locked, but he didn't allow such obstacles to bar him. The angry student tore open door after door, brute strength rendering the magnetic lock system useless. _

_ Finally, he reached a door that flew open. An unlocked door. Behind it, sitting around in a circle of desks, sit the student government, and at their head, the disgusting subhuman who had violated his dearest. _

_ The fucker smirked, letting out a wry laugh, "Um- Choi Jongho. Can I help you?" _

_ Jongho didn't answer. He blacked out again, sort of. Time  _ became abstract _ , extending and compacting in such a way that a moment felt like a year and a millisecond at the same time. He blinked, and he ended up in front of the sleazy class president. He blinked again, and he was already on top of the loathsome predator. He gripped the other's wrist, and their skin rapidly discolored, ugly reds, greens, and purples staining their arm. A surge of satisfaction hit Jongho's veins, like a potent drug, and he rode that high, tormenting the other more. He blinked again, and he was looking at the junction of two points, shoulder and arm. He pulled, and they fell apart so easily. Blood, tendon, bone, stretching, gnarly and cracking, popping in a sickly way. _

_ He registered shouting. Agonized, blood-curdling howls, cries, panic. The other's arm is nearly gone, held on by mere threads of blood vessels, nerves, and muscle. A flash of light went off, and he felt a sting. Then another. And another. _

_ Finally, black. Pure black. _

  
  
  


"Jongho?" Chaeyeon's voice pulls him out of his reverie.

"Hm?"

"Don't tell me you're tired after that," The girl laughs.

"Sorry, I just- dozed, I guess. Shit, how much time has it been."

"It was like five minutes, don't worry. Can you zip me up?" Chaeyeon asks, turning her bare back to him.

Jongho smiles as he obliges her, a warm, happy buzz running through his veins. He carefully pulls the zipper of her simple dress up, planting a kiss on her shoulder blades after doing so. The pianist tosses him his shirt, the last layer of many he has to recover in order to be decent again.

"You think they heard anything?"

Chaeyeon snorts, "No. But if they did, they'd probably be so jealous. You can climb down the tree outside my window to be safe, though. So they don't see your face." Jongho laughs, ears and cheeks heating with embarrassment.

"You get along with them?"

"Yeah, they're alright. I'm closer with people from my program, though."

"Aw, look at you. Making friends."

"Yeah. University on a planet far, far away. I gotta say, it's pretty awesome. Nobody knows you. Nobody cares who you are. You can just start fresh."

Jongho smiles, sitting up and pressing a kiss on her shoulder, "You deserve it."

"You deserve it, too."

"I got a fresh start in my own way."

"Yeah in some crazy, gangster way."

"I'm not in a gang. It's like. A small crew of likeminded people with a common goal."

"What's that?"

Jongho grins, "We're going to hunt down the fabled Treasure of Captain Dex."

"Okay," Chaeyeon laughs. "You can just tell me you wanna make money and survive."

"That doesn't sound nearly as cool, though."

"You're not cool, Jongho."

"Actually, I'm the coolest."

"Mhm. I'll let you believe that."

Jongho pouts, resting his head on Chaeyeon's shoulder and just savoring it for a second. It's so unbelievably nice to just be in her presence again. It almost feels like old times - all those hours spent rolling around in her bed, talking about the meaning of life, about what they'll do when they leave their sleepy suburbia.

"Hey, baby?" Jongho says.

"Hm?"

"How, um, how are my parents handling all of this?" His stomach begins to knot itself again with nervousness. He hasn't heard from them since getting dragged away. They didn't even visit him in jail.

They didn't even call.

Chaeyeon stiffens, immediately setting off suspicion in the other, "Jongho, I- I should tell you something."

"What?" He sits up and finds her gaze.

The pianist wrings her hands nervously in her lap, "This is gonna sound weird."

"I've heard a lot of weird things. Lay it on me. They're- they're okay, right?"

Chaeyeon shakes her head and shrugs, "Jongho, I... I don't know. They left."

"What?"

"Yeah. It was crazy, like, almost immediately after you got taken in. It took one, maybe two days for the house to be completely empty."

"What?" Jongho's heart dips. Did they really want to be rid of him so badly? Had he dishonored him to the point that they couldn't even show their faces in the neighborhood?

Chaeyeon nods, "Yeah, that's how I felt, too. I was gonna try to see if we could appeal your sentencing or something. Gather evidence and make a case that it was in defense since I was assaulted. But, when I knocked on the door, I got nothing. I peeped in the windows because  _ obviously  _ your parents love me."

"More than me, yeah," Jongho jokes weakly. He tries not to show it, but he feels mildly faint.

"But it was empty. Like. Empty, Jongho. No furniture empty. I- Hold on-" Chaeyeon reaches for her personal comm droid on her bedside table. The little round droid responds to her touch, immediately animating and projecting the interface. She taps the holographic call log and does a quick query to filter the output. "See here? I called a zillion times and messaged and never got a response. And then..." She taps another message, an automated response to a text message.

Jongho frowns, "They disconnected."

"I'm sorry Jjongie," Chaeyeon loops an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him.

"I guess that's good, right? New starts for everyone."

"Yeah. That's the strangest part, Jjong."

"What?"

"It really was a new start for everyone. The day after everything went down, police came to the school and addressed classes individually to tell us not to speak of it. My, um, my pictures were taken down, and everything related was erased. But I don't know if that's because it was a crime against me or if it involved you. They even, I- Here-" She fiddles with her comm a bit more and pulls up the official school messageboard. It's used for all sorts of things - sharing memories, updates, official announcements. A lot of the moments look familiar. "Remember that choir concert we had months ago? The one you got the solo on?"

"Which one?"

"Ugh- Okay vocal legend. I mean the harvest one."

"Oh yeah. Right. The one with the super depressing song."

"Yes. That one. See here-" Chaeyeon taps the old entry for the concert. Normally there'd be a video, a few photos and a text blurb accompanying it. Jongho had seen the post before, showed it to his parents who then showed it to any relative they could wrangle into watching it.

Jongho gasps, "What the-"

"Yeah, I know. What the hell?" Chaeyeon frowns. The entry very conspicuously lacks the tenor soloist. Merely removing his video wasn't enough, though. In the group picture, he got completely edited out.

"Whoa."

"Jjong, they erased you."

"But why would they...?"

"You know how our school was about image. Wouldn't be surprised if they did it for PR. 'Oh, our school is the one with the sexual predators and the guy who ripped off another person's arm like they were a rag doll? Never! Must be some other school!'," She says in a mocking tone. "It was just... When I brought it up, they told me to forget about it. To forget about you. Like I could ever do that."

"That's fucked."

"Well, we've all moved past that, right? I am done with that place. We had good memories, but the last few days... I mean, as you can see, I could not get out fast enough. I didn't want a summer break. I just wanted to get out."

"And you are," Jongho says reassured. He tries to ignore the discomfort clawing in his chest, tries to forget the erasure. "And I'm proud of you." He gives her another peck to emphasize it.

"Thanks. Jjong, I... I really am sorry. I- Are you sure you can't stay longer?" The woman's aura makes an abrupt shift, and her shoulders slump. "You know, Jjong... You could stay," She says. Her tone implies it's a joke, but Jongho knows there's authenticity there.

"Chae-"

"Okay, I'm not- not good at obscure stuff, but how hard can it be? I can hide you, you can stay here. With me."

"You know that won't work."

"Please."

"Baby."

"Don't leave me again."

Jongho stands up, and she does, too, "Baby, I have to."

"Do you? Do you really?"

"Yes. All this talk about fresh starts just drives home the fact that- that it's time for yours."

"Jongho, when I said fresh start, I didn't mean without you. We were supposed to do this together, remember?" She grabs his hands.

"We had plans, but if there is something I've learned in my time away from you it's that life does not always go to plan. As a matter of fact, it often does the exact opposite. But that's not always a bad thing."

"Oh no, you are not about to give me this lecture right now."

"Baby-"

"No. Shut up. Just. Shut up. You coming here can't be a coincidence. You came here, to me, you came and found me. This could be our second chance!"

"I needed to see you, and at first I didn't know why. But now I realize that I needed to see you so I could say goodbye."

Chaeyeon sniffs, letting out a weak, "You suck."

"Yeah. I'm really the worst," Jongho laughs humorlessly, his eyes stinging with tears again. He's pretty sure he's cried more in the past hour than he has in the past ten years.

"Jjong, will I ever see you again?"

Jongho shakes his head, "Don't count on it." Chaeyeon sniffs loudly, and Jongho rushes to satiate her, diving forward to litter her cheeks with kisses.

"This is so unfair," Chaeyeon murmurs.

"I know."

"I'll always love you, Choi Jongho."

"I know. And me you, Lee Chaeyeon. But don't let that stop you from living or finding someone else, okay?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to."

"You will. I know you will."

"Yeah, well, I guess I should say the same to you, right?" She lets out a choked laugh. "Just don't let me see you with them or it'll be on sight."

Jongho chuckles in spite of himself, "Okay."

"One day you'll hear me play our nocturne, it'll be projected across holostadiums across the galaxy, streamed across the universe. When you do, know that it's for you."

Jongho holds back a sob. Pressing their forehead together, he whispers, "Baby, you've got such a beautiful life ahead of you. A beautiful life for a beautiful girl. Go on and do what they told you to do. Forget about me and live for both of us."

* * *

_ The King gasped and muttered a curse under his breath. He nibbled on his lower lip before diving back in to attack Alexei’s. Rational thought departed the concubine’s mind. He processed one thing and one thing only: want. Want. Want. Want. Want. Heat rippled throughout his body as he carnally drank in the sensation of his majesty’s lips on his own, tail wagging with delight. Little mumbling moans dripped out from the cracks between their lips. _

__

_ Alexei’s tongue flicked out and ran across the King’s plush bottom lip. He closed his own around the other’s and sucked lightly, eliciting a low moan from the man he called Maste-  _

“Mingi!” A rough tugging on the Venusian’s collar forcefully pulls him out of his reading. Heat swells in his cheeks, and he shuts the book, checking over his shoulder sheepishly.

The Captain stands behind him, flanked by the rest of the crew. He appears tense and stress, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Hi Captain,” Mingi says, nonchalantly leaning on the table. “So, the job?”

“Where’s Jongho at?”

“Oh. He went to the bathroom.” Hours ago. How is he still not back? “He should be back, uh, any minute.”

Hongjoong nods, toe-tapping stressedly. The crew fans out, taking whatever seats they can as they wait for Jongho. Yunho takes a cursory glance around before plopping into the Venusian’s lap shamelessly. Mingi chuckles, tickled by the other’s wagging tail. 

“So how was reading?” Yunho asks, voice low for politeness.

“Oh, you know it was… Illuminating.”

“Illuminating. That’s a shiny word!” The canis leans over and squints. “His Highness’s Hou-”

“How’d the job search go?” Mingi interjects.

“Uh,” Yunho’s cheeks flush, rousing suspicion in the other. “Uh. It was fine. I made a bit of quick cash.”

“Oh. That’s fantastic. Doing what?”

“Art,” Yunho coughs out.

“Wow. I didn’t know you had a penchant for art, pup,” Mingi smiles. Yunho is a gift, and just when Mingi thinks he’s figured the humecanis out, the other shows him yet another shining facet of who he is. The Venusian’s chest warms with adoration. He’s already eager to pick the other’s brain about his preferred mediums and movements. However, the line of questioning ends up getting usurped by the captain’s worry.

“Where is he?” Hongjoong asks, stress transitioning into concern.

“This is Jongho we’re talking about,” Wooyoung replies, “I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“Mingi, how long has he been gone?” Hongjoong presses.   
  


“Er- Five… Ten… Many minutes?”

“Are you serious?”

Yunho chimes in, “We can just go to the bathroom and check on him.”

“Yeah. Why don’t we do that. Mingi, we can discuss your findings later. Let’s focus on finding-”

“H-Hey guys,” As if summoned by their will and worry, Jongho breezes in like he hadn’t been missing for an indiscernible amount of time. The crew greets him cheerily. Mingi waves, flashing him a smile, thoughts running rampant with questions. The most pressing of all relates not to where he’d been but what had happened. The Venusian opts to tactfully keep his opinion to himself, but he detects something off about the other. His eyes appear ruddy, and his skin lustrous - moreso than usual. Though he smiles at the others, the rest of his body language contradicts the lighthearted air he puts on.

“Sorry,” Jongho mutters sheepishly. “I was so absorbed, I kinda forgot to respond.”

Mingi narrows his eyes at the other. Where has he been? Is it possible that the Venusian completely missed his presence? Or had he been gone the entire time.

“What happened to you?” Yunho blurts out frankly. Mingi suppresses a groan. He adores his Yunho, but the other certainly can be blunt. His cuteness and good nature allow him to get away with it, thankfully, and Jongho doesn’t appear too offended.

“Uh- What are you talking about?” Jongho laughs awkwardly.

“You, like, look funny. Have you been crying?” Awkwardness fills the air, and wide eyes dart between Yunho and Jongho.

“Um, no.”

“Jongho it’s fine,” Yunho assures him warmly. “We’ve all been there. Sometimes you just have to take an epic shit-”

“Alright!” Hongjoong interrupts the other (though, unfortunately, it’s too late - his words are already out there, never to be taken back). “Now that we’re all here, let’s talk jobs, yeah?”

Everyone nods in accordance.

“Not here,” The captain says insistently.

“O-Oh.” “Right.” Mingi and Jongho nod before scrambling to collect their materials. Save for a bit of teasing, the topic of Jongho’s absence quickly gets dropped. The crew tries to appear as inconspicuous as possible as they quietly file out of the library. It’s humid out, but significantly cooler which is a plus. Mingi and Yunho lag behind, the canis excitedly chattering about the eccentricities of Latunvor. The Venusian listens, happily basking in the infectious, sunny happiness the other always radiates. He relishes in it, relishes in the way Yunho smiles, his little laugh and the way his eyes squint when he chuckles.

In spite of the other’s almost arresting benevolent presence, Mingi’s mind drifts toward the other youngest among them. He spies Jongho at the edge of his gaze, eyes trained elsewhere with a faraway look.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // CHAPTER 4 WARNING(s): gunshots, guns, gun violence, police, police brutality

> _ The King gasped and muttered a curse under his breath. He nibbled on his lower lip before diving back in to attack Alexei’s. Rational thought departed the concubine’s mind. He processed one thing and one thing only: want. Want. Want. Want. Want. Heat rippled throughout his body as he carnally drank in the sensation of his majesty’s lips on his own, tail wagging with delight. Little mumbling moans dripped out from the cracks between their lips. _
> 
> __
> 
> _ Alexei’s tongue flicked out and ran across the King’s plush bottom lip. He closed his own around the other’s and sucked lightly, eliciting a low moan from the man he called Maste-  _

“Mingi!” A rough tugging on the Venusian’s collar forcefully pulls him out of his reading. Heat swells in his cheeks, and he shuts the book, checking over his shoulder sheepishly.

The Captain stands behind him, flanked by the rest of the crew. He appears tense, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Hi Captain,” Mingi says, nonchalantly leaning on the table. “So, the job?”

“Where’s Jongho at?”

“Oh. He went to the bathroom.” Hours ago. How is he still not back? “He should be back, uh, any minute.”

Hongjoong nods, toe-tapping anxiously. The crew fans out, taking whatever seats they can as they wait for Jongho. Yunho takes a cursory glance around before plopping into the Venusian’s lap shamelessly. Mingi chuckles, tickled by the other’s wagging tail. 

“So, how was reading?” Yunho asks, voice low for politeness.

“Oh, you know it was… Illuminating.”

“Illuminating. That’s a shiny word!” The canis leans over and squints. “His Highness’s Hou-”

“How’d the job search go?” Mingi interjects.

“Uh,” Yunho’s cheeks flush, rousing suspicion in the other. “Uh. It was fine. I made a bit of quick cash.”

“Oh. That’s fantastic. Doing what?”

“Art,” Yunho coughs out.

“Wow. I didn’t know you had a penchant for art, pup,” Mingi smiles. Yunho is a gift, and just when Mingi thinks he’s figured the humecanis out, the other shows him yet another shining facet of who he is. The Venusian’s chest warms with adoration. He’s already eager to pick the other’s brain about his preferred mediums and movements. However, the line of questioning ends up getting usurped by the captain’s worry.

“Where is he?” Hongjoong asks, stress transitioning into concern.

“This is Jongho we’re talking about,” Wooyoung replies, “I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“Mingi, how long has he been gone?” Hongjoong presses.   
  


“Er- Five… Ten… Many minutes?”

“Are you serious?”

Yunho chimes in, “We can just go to the bathroom and check on him.”

“Yeah. Why don’t we do that. Mingi, we can discuss your findings later. Let’s focus on-”

“H-Hey guys,” As if summoned by their will and worry, Jongho breezes in like he hadn’t been missing for some indiscernible amount of time. The crew greets him cheerily. Mingi waves, flashing him a smile, thoughts running rampant with questions. The most pressing of all relates not to where he’d been but what had happened. The Venusian opts to tactfully keep his opinion to himself, but he detects something off about the other. His eyes appear ruddy, and his skin lustrous - moreso than usual. Though he smiles at the others, the rest of his body language contradicts the lighthearted air he puts on.

“Sorry,” Jongho mutters sheepishly. “I was so absorbed, I kinda forgot to respond.”

Mingi narrows his eyes at the other. Where has he been? Is it possible that the Venusian completely missed his presence? Or had he been gone the entire time?

“What happened to you?” Yunho blurts out frankly. Mingi suppresses a groan. He adores his Yunho, but the other certainly can be blunt. His cuteness and good nature allow him to get away with it, thankfully, and Jongho doesn’t appear too offended.

“Uh- What are you talking about?” Jongho laughs awkwardly.

“You, like, look funny. Have you been crying?” Awkwardness fills the air, and wide eyes dart between Yunho and Jongho.

“Um, no.”

“Jongho it’s fine,” Yunho assures him warmly. “We’ve all been there. Sometimes you just have to take an epic shit-”

“Alright!” Hongjoong interrupts the other (though, unfortunately, it’s too late - his words are already out, never to be taken back). “Now that we’re all here, let’s talk jobs, yeah?”

Everyone nods in accordance.

“Not here,” The captain says insistently.

“O-Oh.” “Right.” Mingi and Jongho nod before scrambling to collect their materials. Save for a bit of teasing, the topic of Jongho’s absence quickly gets dropped. The crew tries to appear as inconspicuous as possible as they quietly file out of the library. It’s humid out, but significantly cooler which is a plus. Mingi and Yunho lag behind, the canis excitedly chattering about the eccentricities of Latunvor. The Venusian listens, happily basking in the infectious, sunny happiness the other always radiates. He relishes in it, relishes in the way Yunho smiles, his little laugh and the way his eyes squint when he chuckles.

In spite of the almost arresting benevolence of the other’s presence, Mingi’s mind drifts toward the youngest among them. He spies Jongho at the edge of his gaze, eyes trained elsewhere with a faraway look.

* * *

For how busy it is during daytime, Latunvor is surprisingly quiet at night. Hongjoong always assumed that university towns would be bustling, but apparently even the overworked academia types abide by typical hours (or, at least they stay indoors during those times). Apparently, a lot of the machinery keeps factory hours, too. It’s almost eerily quiet without the constant churn of metal and hiss of steam. Though a few things still remain operational, the lifts are still and the electrolleys are sparse. Occasionally, Hongjoong spots a flash of light above from his peripherals - the passing of an electrolly much like the one they’d come in on. That’s the only indication that the lines do, in fact, run twenty-four hours as advertised. The sparse streetlights above paint wet streaks of orange and amber on the slick cobbles below. Condensation from the day’s work collects between the cracks and inside the little pitholes formed by mirrors - tiny mirrors reflecting the world above. Latunvor doesn’t seem like the type of place that would be bugged to hell and back, but even if it was covered in cameras like some colonies are, it’d be too obscure for anyone to make them out. 

Hongjoong watches the nav on his comm as he approaches what ought to be an automated freight yard of sorts. He follows the map with Wooyoung advising him, leading the crew down a winding backpath that ought to bring them in through a maintenance entry of sorts.

“We’re just about there,” Wooyoung says, gesturing in front of them. 

Hongjoong narrows his eyes. All he sees is a massive brick wall, the side of a building so tall he can’t even see to the top. It looks like some impenetrable fortress to him, not a freight station.

“How in the hell are we going to get in? Is there a maintenance hatch or something?”

Woo chuckles, “You’ll see.” There are a few dubious murmurs among the crew, but nobody voices any real protest. They’re placing their trust in Wooyoung. Hongjoong prays that it doesn’t end them. Though his guts have been roiling with nerves all day, he trudges forward regardless. Wooyoung is clever, skillful and resourceful. So what if he’s got a past? They all do. Hongjoong feels that he has to at least give the other a chance. He’s pretty sure he’d feel anxious even if their job was babysitting six year olds, anyway.

Wooyoung leads them to the end of the alley - an apparent dead end punctuated by the brick facade of a towering building. Just beyond the barrier, Hongjoong can hear the soft thrum of machinery at work. The captain raises his brows dubiously, to which Wooyoung responds with a little chuckle.

"You've never seen one of these before?" The seasoned pseudo-gangster asks. He presses a hand against the wall, and the bricks... Ripple. They  _ ripple _ . The formerly imperceptible projection fades, and gradually what was an unremarkable wall reveals itself to be a concealed entrance. The hefty metal door bears a complicated (and rather convoluted looking) locking mechanism. Lining the hinge dozens of cogs link with one another. The gears vary in size, and their placement appears haphazard at best, like a children’s elementary art project. Hongjoong doesn't see any sort of manual mechanism to open the thing. The panel to the right of the door is so subtle, he nearly misses it.

"Lots of cities do this," Wooyoung mentions, tapping on the panel. "Hides the ugly bits and keeps it more secure. People have to know what they're looking for."

"Huh. They never bothered to hide the ugly shit where I was from," Hongjoong remarks. He watches, fascinated as the panel comes to life. An audiowave projection crops up from the little screen, and a buzzing tone plays for a few moments before a soft  _ "click" _ sounds out.

"Let me do the talking," Wooyoung whispers. Joong happily concedes, nodding and gesturing for the others to stay quiet.

"Entry code and business?" A voice - one belonging to a living person, surprisingly - answers the apparent call.

"We're here for maintenance regarding unit alpha-whiskey-centauri-seven," Wooyoung answers cooly. A moment passes with no answer other than staticy silence. Hongjoong inadvertently holds his breath and stares at the audio wave feed, begging the other to answer.

_ "Thud. Thud!" _

"What the hell is that?!" Hongjoong squeaks, eyes wide.

_ "Screee- thud. Thud!" _

"You may now enter," The bored sounding voice ushers them in before the wave projection flickers out completely.

_ "Screeee- thud-thud-! Click-click-click-click-" _

Hongjoong steps back and watches in awe as one after another, the gears turn and toggle, snapping and clicking into place. The door finally opens with a thunderous groan, and the crew shuffles through, half-afraid the thing will slam on them otherwise.

The captain gasps, gaze drawing upward as he enters the vast space. Automated cars hover on overlapping rails from the ground all the way up to the ceiling. He can't even ascertain just how many stories the massive indoor train yard is. Ten? Twelve? All he knows is that the topmost ones are so high up that he can scarcely make them out. They glide across the rails quietly, no bigger than a toddler's toy in the distance.

"C'mon," Wooyoung murmurs. "Our car should be here." Without hesitation, the first mate files into the dockyard, gravel crunching beneath his feet.

Hongjoong tries not to gawk, instead focusing on being as inconspicuous as possible. The rest of his crew follows suit. Even Mingi and San manageto keep their mouths shut, just as awed by the monument to automated courier trains. The ground level appears to be where maintenance is done. While a few cars glide along tracks, many are set aside, hovering at a standstill or even grounded. A few workers mill about the bottom floor, some welding exterior panels, others doing diagnostics on the software with remote link porta-PCs. Oddly enough, none of the busy dock workers pay the jarringly out-of-place crew any mind. Pays to get paid, apparently.

"Over there," Woo nods toward a stopped freighter in the middle of the massive tangle of electromagnetic rails. Joong holds his breath as he steps over them. Even though he knows they're safe, induction-based devices, he can't shake the paranoia that one wrong step will get him fried.

Standing beside a nondescript freight car is a fairly nondescript dock worker. The gentleman waves them over mutedly.

"Bert," Wooyoung greets the man gruffly with a firm handshake.

Bert - if that's even his real name, which it likely isn't - gives a nod, "You the First Mate?"

"Yes, sir."

"Here for maintenance?"

"Electric panel outage on the interior. It'll need close attention." It's a code phrase, simple and inane, something that sounds completely unremarkable to anyone not in the know.

Their contact nods in understanding before turning to Hongjoong, "You the Captain?"

"U-Uh. Yes. Sir. Captain K- Um- Just. Captain." Joong fumbles to take the man's extended hand. He winces at the feeling of rough calluses scraping his skin, however, he quickly realizes that the strange, almost brittle texture he feels isn't skin at all. It's money. Crisp, paper credits get pressed into his hands stealthily. Hongjoong's heart stops momentarily, and the reality of the job, of what he's doing, becomes all the more daunting to him.

Joong swallows down his nerves and doubts, taking the bills secretively. He knows he'll have to count them later, but he has no idea who in the yard is privy to Bert's operation and who isn't. He figures there'll be plenty of time on the ride, anyway. Bert nods and taps an exposed panel on the side of the freighter. A soft hiss sounds out from the car, and part of the side panel juts out, sliding back to allow for entry.

"We'll see you on the other side," Wooyoung says, giving their contact a winning smile before ducking into the dark car. Hongjoong gestures for the others to board before finally entering himself. He keeps his eyes on the mysterious figure who'd let them in; he watches, almost paranoid, as if waiting for him to throw off his uniform and reveal himself to be a blackcoat. The man is very obviously suspicious; however, he doesn't appear suspect in the way that one eager and ready to stab them in the back may be. No, Hongjoong thinks, Bert's just as sketchy as the rest of them - no more, certainly no less.

Once the captain clears the threshold, Bert presses a button, and the door quickly slides shut. A soft suctioning sound echoes through the metal side walls until what remnant cracks of light they had are snuffed out completely.

Then, silence.

"It's dark in here," Mingi mutters, his deep, shaky voice echoing across the metal car with a tin-like quality.

"Well, this is supposed to be an automated freighter," Wooyoung replies. "They don't exactly turn the lights on."

"Shouldn't they have lights for maintenance purposes?" Yeosang asks.

"They do," Woo answers, "But that runs the risk of alerting someone that somebody's riding with the cargo."

"So we're to sit in the dark and twiddle our thumbs for- what was it? Three? Four hours?" The snobby blond scoffs.

The whir of machinery coming to life briefly interrupts their conversation. The car jostles slightly, and everyone inside it braces themselves against whatever they can. Concern adds to Hongjoong's anxiousness when he hears the sound of his crew stumbling, bumping into metal walls and even the floor.

"Shit," The captain mutters. "We need to have some source of light in here."

Wooyoung responds, "Don't worry. The, uh, esteemed maintenance workers who fix these things up usually leave something..." Little clanks and clangs echo throughout the space, the sound of someone rifling through odds and ends.

_ "Click." _

Hongjoong squints, suddenly dazzled by brilliant light. When he blinks the tears out of his eyes and manages to ascertain that he's not gone blind, he's pleased to see a torch lit on the floor of the car.

"There we go." "Oh thank gods." "That's much better." "Eugh." The others mutter.

With illumination, Hongjoong feels infinitely better. It's more than the comfort of being able to see - it's being able to genuinely assess the situation they're in. And, perhaps even more importantly, to investigate the cargo they'd been tasked with escorting.

The inside of the car is fairly unremarkable. It's a metal husk fit with an adequate floor to bear weight and adequate walls for protection. Hongjoong can see the light fixtures in the ceiling, along with a few lit up emergency protocol bulletins and exits. Welded onto the walls are a couple of sealed built-in containers with similarly explicit warnings: "STORAGE WILL UNLOCK IN THE CASE OF AN EMERGENCY. PRESS THE EMERGENCY CALL BUTTON IN CASE OF..." - Hongjoong infers that it's emergency aid stuff. They won't need it.

At least, he prays to his lucky stars he won't.

Save for whatever came with the freight car, the only thing there - beside his crew - is the cargo itself. The car is fairly large, maybe eight meters long and three wide, give or take. Their precious cargo takes up about half of the space, giving the crew a little less than half of the car to putz around (plus about a meter on each side of the container to slide past). Overall, it's small but not entirely uncomfortable. It's still more space than Yunho and Hongjoong had in their old junk ship. The rough metal doesn't exactly make for luxurious accommodations, but for the pay, he's more than happy to bear it.

"Alright," Hongjoong speaks up, demanding the attention of his crew. "This operation will take the entire night, to and from. I think it's best we take shifts to watch this thing. Two on, switch every hour and a half. Should allow us all to get some rest- or, well, what we can in this thing. I mean- I'm not gonna make you sleep, but I'd prefer you did if you could. If anything does happen, Woo's got emergency contacts, and there's security on the train. Should be a long, boring night," He sees a few nods in the light of the torch, and a few others answer with mumbled statements of affirmation. "Any volunteers for the first shift?"

A few people exchange cursory glances. After an awkward moment of silence, a couple finally step forward.

"I can start," San volunteers himself.

"Me, too," Wooyoung unsurprisingly follows.

The two stand up to take their post. Hongjoong can hear their footsteps on the metal floor recede as they leave the safety of the torchlight. He sighs, nerves still a tangled bundle in his chest, and wills himself to at least semi relax. The captain finds an empty spot against the wall and slides down slowly. His head lolls back, and he shuts his eyes. He knows damn well he's not going to sleep. Regardless, the illusion of kinda-sorta restfulness is a sort of consolation to him. Maybe if his crew sees him "relaxed", they'll be inclined to loosen up as well.

It's no secret that there's tension in the air. Tension originating from many places, for many reasons. It isn't some unified, singular entity, the tension. No. It's more like a maze of overlapping threads. Delicate and precarious, each thread links two, maybe three or four people, mapping out their own complex, unspoken pressures. The threads intersect, criss-crossing and sometimes knotting up until they're indiscernible from one another, a chaotic web of budding relationships.

The web lives in the back of Hongjoong's mind. No matter how many attempts he makes at sweeping it away, it remains there, bothering him. Always bothering him. Though it isn't consistently at the forefront of his mind, he's aware it affects him, and he's terrified it'll leak out and affect his crew. That's his worst fear, really. He can cope with his own troubles fine. What he cannot cope with is the possibility that his problems could become the problems of his beloved brothers.

So, Hongjoong tries his damndest to play the part of the dozing captain, completely assured and relaxed. The metal box they're in is echoey, and though the sound of metal floating over tracks reverberates through the hull, Hongjoong can still hear remnants of conversations here and there. It is by no conscious effort that he picks up the pieces. They simply drift into his ears while he's trying to sleep. Committed to his vow to at least appear relaxed, he makes no move to hush them.

"Doesn't it strike you as suspicious that we're getting paid so much to stand by a box?" The sharp tone of the platinum blond pierces Hongjoong's ears. He suppresses a wince.

"Yes," Yeosang answers frankly with a half-whisper.

"Wh- Why would you not voice your concerns to the captain? Then again, I imagine he wouldn't listen."

"Hwa, I hate to break it to you, but we're fugitives."

" _ You're _ fugitives."

Yeo chuckles at that, "Yeah, we are. And you're a part of this now. We don't have the luxury of serving up coffee drinks for fast cafe chains or teaching primary school kids. This job is suspicious and so are we."

“Don’t you have special vision? You should check what’s in the container. It could be a matter of safety.

“I tried the second we stepped in. It’s a no-go. The cargo is secure.”

“Secure how? What do you mean? You couldn’t see  _ anything _ ?”

“Just a wall of gray. The inner wall’s gotta have a secure privacy lining. I imagine the Coalition used something similar to transport their secure things.”

“I- I suppose we- they do. But this is a common thug’s shipment.”

“The common thug isn’t as common as you think.”

"Ugh.” Hongjoong can practically  _ hear  _ the platinum blond’s nose scrunch with disdain. He continues, “Is it common for couriers to be unaware of what they're delivering?"

"Yes, Hwa. Literally yes."

Hongjoong, in spite of himself, rolls his eyes. He's thankful it's too dim for anyone to notice.  _ Yes, Hwa.  _ Fuck's sake. Does the jackass assume that it's standard for delivery people to pry into every package they deliver?

_ Hwa _ .

It still strikes Hongjoong as immensely strange that in such a short time, the blond has gotten himself on nickname terms with the cyborg. Yeosang is fairly friendly. Maybe  _ too  _ friendly. He did join the crew after knowing them for less than a day - Joong supposes he oughtn’t be surprised that the other is trusting. That does nothing to help Hongjoong understand what's happening. Did they bond over something? What could they possibly have in common? Save for being considered disposable by the Coalition, Hongjoong can't spot any similarities between the two.

The captain quietly huffs, crossing his arms and wiggling into a slightly more comfortable position. The bar for comfort is low as hell, but it doesn't stop him from trying, at least. Joong makes a deliberate effort to ignore the softly spoken conversation between the cyborg and their new initiate. From down the container, he can hear the faintest of whispers from between Wooyoung and San. He imagines that Wooyoung is explaining the logistics of the job to the siren.

Though San does not like to show it, he's still a fledgling, adjusting to the strange new human world. Hell, even Hongjoong gets whiplash from all the shit they've been through. He can't imagine what it's like to go through that as someone barely acclimated to human culture and norms in the first place. At first, Joong felt glad San had Wooyoung to guide him, but ever since their argument, he's tried to keep a closer eye on the siren. It's not exactly easy now that whatever extra proverbial eyes he possesses are trained on the ex-blackcoat. Even so, the captain wants to try. The Treasure may be Hongjoong's journey, but the wellness and happiness of his crew - his family - is his mission.

"Hey," Yunho's voice crops up loudly, just as Hongjoong had started to zone out.

"Wha-?" Joong groans.

"Does anybody hear that?" The canis asks. The crew exchange dubious expressions, their confusion accentuated by the stark highlights and shadows of the torchlight.

"Hear what?" Hongjoong asks.

"It sounds like voices," Yunho says.

Mingi gasps next to him. Wooyoung and San snort while Yeosang simply raises his brows incredulously. Prettyboy lets out a choked "ugh", clearly not amused. Jongho, miraculously asleep on the uncomfortable, cold floor, doesn't even stir.

"Ha ha," Wooyoung responds from his post by the container. "Very funny."

"Wha- You scared me," Mingi pouts.

"No, guys, I'm serious," Yunho frowns.

"Oh,  _ please _ ," The blond grimaces.

"What are they saying?" Yeosang kindly throws the canis a bone.

"I... I don't know. I- I couldn't make out actual words. They're quiet. Super, super quiet. It was almost like... A baby crying."

"Okay, you're definitely bullshitting us," Yeosang calls the other out bluntly.

"No, it's true! I totally heard voices!"

"Yeah." "Uh-huh." "Sure, Yunho." The narrative choir chimes in with their disbelief.

"This train wouldn't be haunted, right?" Mingi asks with a worried chuckle. "R-Right? It's too new."

Wooyoung, standing by the side of the container facing the crew, snickers, "I mean, who knows? All sorts of atrocities could happen aboard an AI freighter. I mean, think about it. These things run autonomously ninety-nine percent of the time. Someone could easily have an accident and not get found for ages. It'd make a pretty good place to hide a body, too."

"Y-You think people would hide bodies here?!" Mingi squeaks, clinging to Yunho with a white-knuckled grip.

"Sure, why not? Who's gonna find it? Routine maintenance isn't done that often. Hell, even someone who boarded one of these things to do maintenance could have an accident and not get found for weeks. Imagine someone coming on to do a checkup and having a heart attack or something. How long do you think it'd take before someone checked?"

"That's- that's terrible," The Venusian whimpers.

"Okay, that's enough!" Hongjoong cuts in. His voice booms loudly across the car. Given that they happen to be the jackasses "performing routine maintenance" at that very moment, Wooyoung's would-be ghost story hits a bit too close to home. He would like for at least a few people in his crew to get at least a little bit of rest before their shift, even if not him.

"Ugh, no fun," Wooyoung whines before quieting down.

Hongjoong sighs and shuts his eyes again. The rest of the crew quietens with him, and save for a few barely audible whispers, all the captain hears is the sound of magnets guiding them over the tracks. He knows he'll probably wake up with aches and pains from leaning against the metal, but he doesn't care. In spite of his worries and anxieties, he finds himself starting to nod off proper. All of the soft white noise melds into a soothing drone, coaxing the drained captain into the comforting, warm void of sleep.

* * *

A gentle jostle of the shoulder brings Hongjoong back to the land of the living.

As he anticipated, his body greets him with a new set of aches and pains. He winces as he stretches, face contorting with every new discovery he makes. There's a neck crick here and a shoulder pain there - all unwelcome reminders that he is very much awake and alive. He supposes he ought to be grateful.

"Captain," Wooyoung whispers, "Sorry to wake you."

"Mmn- no, don't apologize. I wasn't even sleeping. I was just- just resting my eyes," Hongjoong wipes a hand over his face heavily. "What's up?"

"Two hours is up," The first mate holds up his comm as proof.

"Oh, okay, swell. Um. Right. Wait- Two?!”

“It’s fine. We lost track of time. Has San ever told you about public transportation where he’s from?”

“Uh, no?” Joong replies groggily.

“It’s fascinating.”

“Right. Well, um, let's see who's up. If I can find one other person at least-"

_ "WHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrr-!" "Screeeeeeeee-" _

In an instant, the sound of machinery powering down sends Hongjoong's heart into his stomach. Not even a second later, the abrupt jerk of the train sends his body flying down the car. A cacophony of faraway crashing noises, thuds, muttered curses and exclamations of surprise. When the jerking motion stops, everything falls silent. Nobody says a word. The great machine on which they ride doesn't even stir.

"What the hell was that?" Hongjoong asks, heartbeat accelerating. His voice echoes across the freight car, but the answer doesn't come in the form of a verbal response.

As if prompted, the freight car floods with deep red light. Hongjoong clings to the wall, using it to steady his wobbly, sore legs as he claws his way back onto his feet. He glances around, checking on each member of the crew. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven - and him, eight - good. They're all there, and save for Jongho, they're all rousing from their own naps, rubbing their sore spots and whispering desperate questions.

_ "Ding-dong!" _

The sudden bell tone is so loud Hongjoong actually jumps, nearly yelping from the sheer shock. He labors to steady his breathing and tries his damndest to assess the situation. Rising panic muddies his thoughts. He wracks his brain, grasping at any faint thought or idea that could possibly help him figure out what's going on or calm his crew.

A robotic voice plays over hidden speakers inside the system, "Error code six-tau-omega-python. Stop time oh-one-thirty-five hours. Any personnel present are instructed to stay put. Error log transmitting..."

That's when it dawns on Hongjoong - he doesn't hear the whirr of the freighter, doesn't feel the vibrations of it beneath him. 

They're stopped. 

Why the  _ fuck  _ are they stopped?

"Transmission failed. Retrying now. Error long transmitting..."

"Yeosang?" Hongjoong finds the cyborg's eyes. The blue-green orbs glow distinctly in the deep red light like those of an animal caught in spotlights.

"Yes, captain?" The other responds.

"What- What's going on?"

Yeo frowns, "We appear to be stopped, captain."

"But- But why?"

"I... I don't know."

"You don't?"

"I- I'm not a train expert," The cyborg replies strainedly.

"Transmission failed. Retrying now. Error log transmitting..." The freighter's computer continues on loop.

"Something's jamming the signal," Prettyboy remarks.

"Excuse you?" Hongjoong huffs. He doesn't remember asking blondie his opinion, for shit's sake.

"I'm making an observation," The blond replies frigidly. Something about his calm facade irritates the captain like no other, but he doesn't have the time or energy to dwell on it.

"I wasn't talking to you," Joong responds tersely.

"I thought it was relevant," The other stands his ground adamantly. "That transmission is on it's fifth attempt already. It's failing to send because it cannot get a proper signal."

Hongjoong bites back his reflexive rejection and actually considers the other's words. He has to admit: the prick is right. Why else would a simple error log fail to send? It should be instantaneous - hell, the transmission ought to send prior to the rest of the ship shutting down. That's the modern standard, anyway. While Latunvor has many antiquey quirks about it, Joong doesn't have reason to doubt the core of their technology is up to present day standards.

"Yeosang, what do you think?" The captain asks.

The cyborg flounders a bit, green eyes darting between his captain and his new ally, "Well, to be honest, it could be a signal jammer, but I- I'm not sure the exact mechanics of this ship. How the routing is determined or what the tracks look like."

"What are you getting at?"

"I- I just don't- I don't know, but judging by the singular tracks we saw in the warehouse, I assumed that there are little to no possible alternations in the routing. I mean- Basically, I feel like we've been going in one direction the entire time. No turnstiles or forking paths or anything like that. Our position in the nav can corroborate that, I think."

"Right. Okay?"

"So, based on that logic, I assume that an interstel signal isn't necessary to get from point A to point B. I mean, sure it should be consistent, but there are many anomalies that can result in an inconsistent signal. To me it just seems logical that a bad or even jammed signal wouldn't completely stop the train."

"What are you suggesting, then?"

"I- Well, I- I dislike making assertions when I'm not totally sure, but, I mean, look at these lights."

"They're very... Red. Not super easy to actually see anything."

"Yeah. Low power reds, emergency lights used often for places like mines or subterranean bunkers. I don't think this train has just stopped because of a jammed signal. I think the train's got no power."

"I'm sorry- it what?! How the  _ fuck  _ does that even happen?"

"I don't know, but... But I think I ought to find out."

"How?"

"These things are automated, but there's usually some sort of control or master computer at the front of them. There has to be something on this train that can power us adequately to get to our destination - maybe an override or backup supply," Yeosang crosses over to the front of their car and fiddles with the panel. It's dead, completely unresponsive. When that fails, he tries his hand at getting a grip into the seam of the partitioning door. Surprisingly, it gives way with ease. The cyborg lets out a satisfied chuckle. "Nice. These automatic things are pretty flimsy internally. Could be a safety measure for situations exactly like this. Let's just hope the other partitions aren't blocked off by freight."

"Whoa- Hey- Hey- settle down!" Hongjoong's anxiety spikes at the thought of the other going off by himself. Even though they're alone, something in the back of his head screams out against it. The situation is entirely too remnant of a cheap slasher film - the kind he and Yunho would watch in secret, parsing the stream signal from their parents' screen so they could watch it on Hongjoong's little handheld PC. Though he feels a tad silly for worrying, he'd rather be safe than sorry. "I am  _ not  _ letting you go all the way up there by yourself."

"I have my comm. I'll be fine."

"This isn't a matter up for debate."

"I'll go," Yunho cuts in, stepping forward. Mingi frowns at the other, squeezing his hand in silent protest. The canis, usually weak for the other's wiles, ignores him. "I know ships the best out of anyone in this crew. Ships, trains - they can't be too different, right?"

"O-Okay. Sure," Hongjoong nods. "Yeo?"

"I'm good with that," Yeosang agrees. With permission and a grunt, he pries the partition doors apart, opening up their path forward. "C'mon, let's go."

"Don't have to tell me twice. This train's giving me the creeps," Yunho gives Mingi a quick peck on the hand before passing through the partition.

"Be safe!" Hongjoong calls after them, his voice bouncing loudly across the conjoined metal cares. "Comm if you need anything! Or if you just- wanna talk."

"Got it!" "Yes, captain!" They holler back. Hongjoong watches their backs, nerves roiling in his stomach. He doesn't turn around until their figures melt into the deep obscurity of the red-stained shadows.

* * *

Yeosang’s heart beats loudly against his chest as he advances through the freighter. Though he wanted to show his best face to the captain, in truth, fear bubbles in his gut. The further he advances, the more ill-advised his venture feels. Though he stands by his assertion that it’s the best course of action, he wishes he’d given it more forethought. Freight trains can be a dozen cars in length or they can be ten dozen. He has no idea where they are relative to the rest of the vehicle’s sections nor what kind of terrain they’re parked on. Though he hasn’t felt any sort of strange anomalies or detected drastic changes in elevation, they could be hanging over a swamp or up a mountain for all he knows.

He’s thankful for Yunho’s company. The humecanis is an encouraging ray of sunshine. Something about his presence grounds Yeosang. The other holds his hand tightly, having whimpered “I don’t want to lose you” not five minutes into their trek. The two weave between containers small and large. So far, they’ve yet to encounter an obstacle insurmountable, for which Yeosang is grateful for. He imagines there are packing protocols for such trains. However, whether smuggling trains abide by such rules is another story.

“See anything?” Yunho whispers as they squeeze between a wide container and the wall.

Yeosang, who had toggled his oculars to nightvision, shakes his head, “Nothing of note. Just more stuff.”

When the two emerge, they find themselves at the front of the car. Yeosang sighs, prying the doors open with relative ease before passing through yet again. They emerge into a fairly empty space, enabling them to walk more freely.

“Shit, it’s hot,” Yunho mutters. “Is it hot to you? Because I’m dying.”

“Yeah. Guess the ventilation on these things isn’t great. All the remnant heat from the rails starting to seep into the floors.”

“Hey, if we can’t get this thing up and running, what do you think we should do?”

“Huh?” Yeosang’s brows raise with surprise. “You’re asking me?”

“Uh, yeah? Of course I’m asking you. Who else would I be asking?”

“The train ghost?” Yeo responds with a smirk.

“Sh-Shut up. I was serious about those voices.”

“Listen. I have augmentation enhancing my ears and thermal vision. Trust me, if there was a ghost - or anything on this thing - I would know.”

“Whatever. I was just wondering, what do you think we should do? You’re all smart and stuff.”

“Heh, thanks. Smart and stuff,” Though he doesn’t show it, the compliment makes his cheeks flush just ever so slightly. He’s still not used to receiving praise. “Well, I imagine Wooyoung would get ahold of his contact and we’d proceed from there.”

“What if we have to find a way off of this thing? I don’t see any emergency exits.”

Yeosang frowns. He’s right. Yunho doesn’t give himself enough credit for how astute he is. Though he lacks formal education, he’s a quick learner and smart in his own right. Most of all, something the canis has that Yeosang knows he never will: intuition. The cyborg has observed it manifest in subtle ways - the canis knows the right thing to say and when, he can predict the outcomes of interpersonal situations prior to them happening and intuit a person’s emotions. Yeosang can only do such things by essentially cheating. Yunho just knows. He just understands humans on a basic, core, emotional level that Yeosang aspires to. And, sometimes, the humecanis just notices basic things. Things so minute that, shockingly, even the cyborg misses them.

“There has to be some emergency activation. I’m sure people have gotten into difficult situations on these things before,” Yeosang replies. A few theories bubble up in his head, but he doesn’t want to speak much on them without more data.

  
The cyborg parts another set of flimsy doors, leading them into the next car.

_ “Beep-beep!” _

A chirp suddenly echoes through the car, giving Yeosang a terrible startle. The cyborg jumps up, reflexively clinging to the nearest thing (which happens to be Yunho).

“Oh- Sorry,” Yunho chuckles sheepishly. “That’s my comm… I should- There’s a silence mode, right?”

“There is,” Yeosang mutters. He grabs the other’s comm and fiddles through the menuing. The settings interface is deliberately buried. It’s not that Yeosang wants to be a know-it-all, he simply knows how he wants his prototype to work. He also understands his functioning conditions and doesn’t want his crewmates to accidentally break their devices. “What’s it about?”

“It’s the captain. Checking in on us,” Yunho responds.

“Tell him the same thing you told him the first time. We’re still walking.”

“Will do.”

“Yunho, do you think the captain is worried about something?” The cyborg asks, heart calmed to it’s previous, slightly deescalated state.

“Uh, is that a sarcastic question?”

“I’m serious.”

“Well, of course he is.”

“I meant something more than the typical stressors.”

“The ‘typical stresses’ for Hong is everything, okay?” Yunho’s low laugh echoes through the car as they stroll along, almost lackadaisically.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the neurotic type,” Yeosang frowns. Another thing he’s gotten wrong about the humans around him.

“I dunno if I’d really say neurotic, but, he’s… Well, he’s a total worrywart. He just makes everybody’s problems his problems - even if he doesn’t show it.”

“That sounds meddling. Would you say he’s meddling?”

Yunho laughs, “Maybe a little. He just cares a lot. He’s passionate- I’m sure you can see that.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I ask you why… Why you asked?”

“He just seems particularly on edge,” The cyborg shrugs. In truth, while he couldn’t confirm the precise reason, he had a theory. He was wondering if Yunho knew anything about it. In spite of everything - the urgency of his situation and the scariness of it - his curiosity still manages to usurp all. While he made a play at Hongjoong being meddling, Yeosang cannot deny that his pursuit of knowledge has resulted in him being meddling. It’s all for the noble pursuit of science and understanding - of course.

“The captain lives his entire life on the edge,” Yunho says matter-of-factly. “And I mean that in lots of ways.”

“I can tell.”

“Listen, if you’re worried about him, just be there for him, okay?”

“That’s my duty as part of the crew, isn’t it?”

“C’mon, don’t play dumb,” Yunho elbows him lightly. “You know what I mean. Joong’s not gonna show if he needs help, you just have to be there no matter what.”

“You don’t think he’d ask for help if he needed it?”

“Hongjoong? Hell no. No, he’s afraid of burdening people.”

Yeosang chuckles, a bittersweet wistfulness blooming in his chest, “You really have been best friends for years, haven’t you?”

“Best friends. Brothers. Everything except for lovers ‘cause that’s gross.”

“Shit- Ew.”

“I know! But- Listen, when we’d go around people really thought we were a fucking couple! I don’t know why! I just- ugh!” The canis’s face squashes into a comical expression of disgust. Yeo’s certain it’d be a lot more funny if not cast in a hellish red powerlight.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. Worse shit was how people would think I was like, his pet-slave.”

“What?!”

“The outer reaches are wild, man. They don’t get a lot of- well, a lot of people. Let alone ones that look like me.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It happens,” Yunho shrugs, unbothered. “I… I can’t help how I was born. No use being mad about it. Joke’s on them: I’ve got a super hot Venusian boyfriend.”

Yeosang laughs at that, “You’re a real boundary breaker.”

“Boundaries aren’t the only thing I break.”

“Gross,” Yeosang expresses disgust with his words but laughs at the crass joke regardless. 

Is this what it’s like to have friends in the same age group? This is how young people talk, isn’t it - unfiltered and unapologetic?

“Hah- What were we talking about?”

“Well, before you rubbed your disgusting relationship in my face, I think… The captain?”

“Oh, yeah. That guy.”

“Yeah, him. The one who’s messaged us twice already.”

“He just cares too much, that’s all. Cares about the success of this mission. Cares about the safety of the crew. He cares about all of us. Even about that blond bastard- uh- sorry, you hang out with him, don’t you?”

Yeosang smiles and nods, “He’s coming around.”

Yunho huffs dubiously, “Sure he is.”

“Wait- So, did he tell you that?”

“Did who tell me what?”

“The captain? He told you he cared about Seonghwa?” Yeosang tries to stop himself from sounding so amused.

“What, like with words? Hell no,” Yunho laughs. “He would never.”

“Oh. Then what makes you say that?”

“That he cares?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he let blondie on, didn’t he?”

“I thought he said it was to keep an eye on him.”

“And you believed him?”

“I like to explore different avenues of thought before reaching a conclusion.”

“He’s a big softie. How about that avenue?” 

“Even for a former blackcoat?”

Yunho shrugs, “I may know him well, but I’m not inside his brain. I dunno why he let him on the ship. Hell, sometimes I don’t think even he does. But! It happened. Captain could’ve left his ass in the dirt or worse, back in that mine. Not that I think he’s capable of that kind of cruelty, but I just- I mean, he had to care a little, right? To let him on?”

The canis’s tone reveals his own struggle with accepting the other’s presence. Did Hongjoong disappoint his best friend in allowing the other onto the ship? Or is he simply hesitant due to interpersonal issues with the blackcoat himself? Did he feel hurt that his best friend made such a decision without further consulting him?

“Yeah, that sounds like it,” Yeosang nods, hoping to reassure the other.

_ “Scree…” _

Yunho frowns, “I thought you silenced this thing.”

The cyborg’s brows furrow, “I did-”

_ “Screeeeeee…” _

  
The strange, high pitched sound that they initially mistook for a beep gets louder. 

They both freeze. Their eyes lock, both begging the silent question:

What the hell was that?

_ “Thud.” _

The noise is distant but undeniable. Everything echoes loudly, bouncing across the cars, thrumming through the metal floors. 

_ “Thud-thud.” _

The faint sound is followed by more, similar. The two don’t dare say a word. Yeosang waits for the irregularity to cease, waits for the moment they can laugh at one another for being so jumpy and scared.

_ “Thud-thud-thud… Thud-thud-thud…” _

That moment does not come.

“You hear that, right?” Yunho whispers, squeezing Yeosang’s mechanical hand in a vice.

_ “Thud-thud, thud-thud…” _

“Yes,” Yeosang nods.

A few seconds pass quietly. The two stand completely silent, trying to assess the situation. Yeosang can hear the rush of blood in his ears. He can feel his heartbeat pick back up, pounding against his chest like a prisoner begging to be let free. As thunderous as those sensations are, none are quite as loud as the noise.

_ “Thud-thud, thud-thud-” _

The steady, rhythmic sound approaches them. At first, he’s dubious, but he toggles his vision to data view for a prospective decibel analysis.

The sound is getting louder.

It’s getting closer.

“It sounds like steps,” Yunho whispers, barely audible.

_ “Thud-thud, thud-thud…” _

“Fuck,” Yeo breathes out. He’s right. Yet another keen observation by the canis. Yeosang ventures a glance in the direction of the sound. Unfortunately, they appear to be coming from the very direction they need to go. He toggles to thermal. It’s hard to see with the overlapping containers and goods.

_ “Thud-thud, thud-thud…” _

The shadows shift, and suddenly a sliver of bright, vivid color appears between two containers.

Yeo shudders and starts to choke out,“Yunho-”

“We’re not alone.”

The two exchange cursory glances before nodding in agreement: they need to go. 

_ “Screeeeeeeooooo-”  _ The doors in front of them groan loudly.

Yeosang gasps, and Yunho jumps. With his nightvision, the cyborg can see hands reach inside the crack. They have seconds before whoever is trying to enter gets through. Yeosang knows damn well how easily the car doors part.

“W-We have to go,” The cyborg mutters.

“They’ll hear us if we run,” Yunho whispers, starting to shuffle backwards.

“Bu- W-We have to go,” Yeo stumbles after the other, eyes fixed on the entrance. Fear surges through his veins, cold claws raking through his bloodstream as the doors are pried further and further apart.

“Hide.”

  
“What?”

“Let’s hide!”

_ “Screeeoooooooooooooo-” _

“Where?!”   
  


“Shh!” Yunho hushes the cyborg before yanking him by the arm behind a cargo container. It’s relatively short but wide and bulky. The world becomes a red-hued blur as the two panickedly shove the thing away from the side of the container. They make just barely enough room to wedge themselves between the container and the wall. The second the clearance is achieved, Yeo and Yunho stuff themselves into the narrow gap.

_ “Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-oo!” _

Not a second longer and the two would likely have been caught.

_ “Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…” _

The slow cadence of footsteps on metal fills the train car. With each step, the heavy-sounding boots approach closer and closer. Their pace is agonizing. One. Step. At. A. Time. Yeosang shudders, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing.

It’s entirely too similar to the patrols back home. He feels like he ought to be mentally prepared for this. How many times had he done essentially the same thing - pressed himself against a door and listened to the sound of the predators outside, hunting? Yet, this time feels different. Before, his life was in danger, and, yes, so were the lives of others. But it wasn’t the same. Now the stakes are higher. He has friends, people he trusts and loves, and they’re counting on him.

_ “Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud… Thud.” _

The footsteps stop. Yeosang doesn’t dare peek - his oculars are a dead giveaway. So, he listens. He swallows down the agony and panic to focus not on what they’re doing but what  _ he  _ can do. He needs to warn his friends, but first, he has to make sure that he and Yunho don’t get caught. There’s nobody else around to warn them, otherwise.

“Any idea which one it’ll be?” A raspy voice sounds out.

A hand shoots out toward Yeosang, and he nearly blacks out for a second before realizing it’s Yunho. The canis’s face is scrunched with a stillborn sob. He squeezes his anxiety into Yeosang’s hand as he tries to hold himself back. Yeo responds with a hand squeeze of his own.

“No,” A second voice responds. This one higher, airier.

“Damn recon team. What the hell are they doing?”

“They’re doing enough. C’mon, let’s scan for temps,” The higher-voiced one says.

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and he squeezes Yunho’s hand in a vice. A tiny line of lasers beams onto the wall near them, and fear drives a dagger into the cyborg’s throat. The blade twists when the sweeping laser slowly ambles toward them, tracing the walls and the containers along it. Yeo and Yunho press themselves as far into the floor as they possibly can, watching the laser slowly sweep across the wall above them. It’s a simple scanner, Yeo notes, something that’ll hit what’s in front of it but not pierce through. The minor consolation does little to dislodge the dagger of nerves in his throat. 

The laser’s pace is sluggish and agonizing.

Dizziness makes Yeo aware that he hasn’t been breathing the entire time. He wills himself to respirate properly as the thing starts scanning on top of them. A tear drops down his cheek without a cry to accompany it. He can’t afford such a slip up. Not now. Not when they - whoever  _ they  _ are - are  _ right there _ .

He silently begs the laser to be faulty or not pick them up as it beams across. Yunho shimmies down to the best of his ability, willing his curls not to pick up on the light. All Yeosang can do is watch.

It’s not until one of their voices cuts the air that Yeo realizes the scan is complete. He cannot bring himself to be relieved. There’s still too much unknown, too much at risk. He has to hope and wait, first. And god does he hate both of those things.

“Nothing,” The raspy voice says, sounding rather unamused.

“Didn’t think so.”

“What’s the point of these thermal checks, anyway?” 

“There’s an off chance our perp’s cheaped out on the container and gone for something vanilla. Not likely - everything’s anti-sensor these days - but it never hurts to check,” The person with the sharp voice says.

“There’s gotta be a way to narrow this down, Commander.”

“I agree this is inefficient, but it helps to know what we’re looking for.”

_ “Thud. Thud. Thud.” _

The footsteps get even closer.

_ “Thud. Thud.” _

Yeosang cannot unfreeze himself. He can hear them right there.

They’re standing on the other side of the very same container.

“It’s going to be relatively large. Judging by intel it should fit four… Maybe five of them?”

Four? 

  
Five of  _ what _ ?

“Of course, when in doubt-” The apparent Commander sighs.

_ “Click-click.” _

The undeniable sound sends another rush of terror through Yeosang’s veins. He urges himself to move, to act, to day or do something - to distract these people before the worst possible scenario comes to fruition.

“-you can always just check a few,” The Commander finishes.

_ “Bang! Bang!” _

The sound is deafening right next to them. So much so that Yunho disentangles his hand in order to cover his ears. The poor humecanis buries his face into the wall to stop from crying out. Yeosang is… Tingly. A strange numb sensation flits at his fingertips and toes, and for a second, he’s floating aside, watching himself.

“Ugh,” The raspier of the two invaders groans. “Millet.”

“Enough whining and let’s go,” The Commander orders. “I know neither of us wanna be at this all night.”

“You’re telling me. I’ve got chicken soup waiting when I get home.”

“Can’t keep  _ that  _ waiting, now can we? Naval life can be real brutal, I know,” The Commander snarks. “Remember. We’re talking big containers. They’ve gotta fit at least four or five…”

_ “Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud…” _

Their footsteps start to recede. Yunho cries mutedly next to Yeosang, still completely shaken up by the shot. It takes every single ounce of willpower Yeosang has to get a message through to the crew. He’s fortunate he doesn’t have to take out a comm - it’s integrated with his own augment software. He pulls himself together just enough to send through a quick message. With a thought, he warns them:

**yeosang** : we are not alone

**yeosang** : there are 2 of them

* * *

Hongjoong bursts onto his feet, “Who’s coming?!”

The panic that had been laying dormant inside of him spikes. He watches his comm impatiently, waiting for elaboration, silently begging the other to respond faster dammit.

“What?” “Someone is coming?” “Did they figure it out?” A few confused murmurs sound out from the crew in the car. The captain posted himself by the container along with Jongho, just to be cautious. Save for the drone of the transmission error, they haven’t heard anything. Joong thought he saw shadows moving a couple of times, but it turned out to be a trick of the light, the blood-red, eerie light.

The captain quickly sends forth a message:

**hongjoong** : focus on getting the power back on

**hongjoong** : whoever they are, we can handle them

He isn’t sure that they can handle them, whoever they are. Sure, with nothing but brute force they outnumber two, easy. But what if they’re armed? What if they get the jump on the sorry, unsuspecting crew.

**hongjoong** : who are they?

He asks Yeosang. The seconds it takes for the other’s response to transmit feel like minutes.

**yeosang** : coalition. ‘Naval’ one of them said

**yeosang** : one went by commander

**yeosang** : at least, that is my inference given what i heard

“Coalition?” Hongjoong utters confusedly. He senses the ex-blackcoat stirring in his peripherals.

“What?” “There’s Coalition on here?” A few more mutters sound out, and the others start to crowd around their captain.

“Apparently,” The captain breathes out, trying his damndest to stay cool. His mind races with worried thoughts and worst-case-scenarios. Though the anxiety courses through his veins, charging him with prickly static, he adamantly stuffs it down into his gut. He needs to stay calm throughout all of this. He needs to think, needs to calculate, and most importantly: needs to get his crew out safe.

“So… Shall we go fight them?” San asks frankly. “What direction did they go, again-?”

“We are not going after them,” Joong says sternly. “They’re armed.”

“You’re certain they’re Coalition?” The sound of the ex-blackcoat’s voice sends a prick of annoyance down Hongjoong’s spine.

“Why the fuck does it matter? What- You think you might recognize a couple of them?” Hongjoong snarls. He doesn’t have time for this.

“I simply wanted to give insight,” The other growls back. “It could help us prepare- know what we’re up against.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“There’s a big difference between rural patrols and special ops agents.”

“Well as far as I can tell, there really isn’t.”

“Oh, please- now is not the time to get political-”

“Our lives are in danger, asshole. What about that is political, you fucking-”

“H-He’s got a point,” Wooyoung interjects. Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s eyes shoot to the first mate who unceremoniously inserted himself into the conversation. He quickly coughs out his elaboration, “The training special officers get is… Well, I wouldn’t fuck with them.” Hongjoong’s jaw drops with incredulity. “But! But to the captain’s point, I genuinely think it- it doesn’t matter in this case. We’ve probably got the red dot on our foreheads no matter what.”

Hongjoong huffs, continuing, “It could be a fucking park ranger- it doesn’t matter. They’re armed and probably not interested in the alleged ‘due process’ you go on about.”

“It’s more than that. Different officers and departments are given completely different toolkits,” The blond argues. “There’s no use in trying to sneak up on them if they can detect us from three cars away.”

“Yeah, well, Yeosang and Yunho got out fine, so I doubt we’re in jeopardy from halfway across the train.”

“Captain, if I may-”

“You may not-”

“-I urge caution.”

“I don’t take orders from you, remember?”

“G-Gentleman,” Mingi coughs. “Can I just say-”

“ _ No _ .” “Shut up, Mingi!” The two bark at the Venusian simultaneously. Mingi nods, shutting his mouth and graciously taking his loss.

The blond continues, “I am not trying to give an order, I am trying to give a suggestion.”

“Maybe try suggesting something worthwhile, then.”

“You’re only saying that because it comes from my mouth.”

  
“Listen, if I need tips on coloring my hair or dyeing my irises, I’ll defer to you.”

“ _ Very _ mature-”

“Uh- Guys,” Wooyoung tries to butt in timidly.

“Oh?” Hongjoong ignores Wooyoung, “Am I gonna start taking maturity tips from the guy who assaulted me for pointing out his jarringly obvious daddy issues?”

“You assaulted me first!” The ex-blackcoat fires back.

“Wow,” Jongho remarks, half-asleep and nonchalant, “There’s a lot of baggage here I didn’t know about.”

“Captain-” Woo tries again.

The captain doesn’t seem to hear and rebuts, “Because you cornered me with a story, which, by the way, was completely off!”

“Should we really be this loud right now?” San mutters.

“Don’t you have more pressing things to do than air out our interpersonal issues?” The blond’s voice drips with condescension, and it makes Hongjoong’s blood boil. He nearly forgets about the harrowing situation at hand. It is so, so tempting to lunge at the other and wring his neck. For a second - not even - Hongjoong pictures it. He indulges in the fantasy of just jumping him and wrapping his hands around the other’s neck until that pretty plastic face of his goes blue.

When that brief instant (and the trickle of serotonin that comes with it) finishes, he heaves a sigh. Hongjoong reigns his unruly emotions back in. He never thought himself particularly emotional - at least, not in the explosive way. Yet, the other’s presence and all the stressors adding up seem to be bringing out the worst in him. Guilt looms in the back of his mind, and he starts to regret his own immaturity. The captain adds that to the list of feelings and thoughts that will simply have to wait for later.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong ignores the other, putting a lid on his boiling anger. “What is it you were saying? I apologize you got interrupted.” The blond lets out an exasperated exhalation, but he doesn’t say anything, thankfully.

Wooyoung answers quietly, “I- I wanted to remind you - remind us, all of us - that our cargo is very delicate.”

“Yes, of course,” Joong nods.

“It is very delicate. Our employers made it very clear that the goods are not to be tampered with under any circumstances.”

“What about emergencies? By the way- did you get a hold of your contact?”

Woo shakes his head dejectedly, “I can’t on the comms, they’re ranged based and the frequency’s exclusive to us. I shot Yeo the contact info, but that depends on him getting to the front. To be honest, I was hoping this would get resolved before it came to that.”

“Oh. Shit. I- I haven’t heard from him in a few minutes, I should message him again.”

“Yeah. Tell him he’s got my authorization to get ahold of our guys. If the interstel even gets back up and running on this thing,” Wooyoung frowns. “Anyway- What I was getting at was that- well- we, um, don’t know what this is.”

“Yeah?”

“And it could very well be something unstable.”

“Oh. Unstable as in…?”

“As in: some dumbass blackcoat shooting indiscriminately could _ light this entire place up _ unstable.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen, and he eyes the cargo container with a newfound awe. The awe is not for anything good by any means. His mind starts wandering, theorizing as to its mysterious, delicate contents. It could very well be something unstable. What if it’s weaponry? Or something pure and unrefined like unprocessed lentumite? His heart drops.

“We need to keep it safe,” Hongjoong responds. “Do the job we set out to do.”

“Captain,” Mingi says, more meekly this time, “Maybe we should just have the others join us and leave? Or- Or we could just… Let them have the thing?”

“Mingi, I don’t think that’s gonna work.” Joong shakes his head. “We have no idea where we are. We could be in the middle of nowhere, thousands of kilometers away from the slightest trace of civilization.”

“Not to mention,” Woo adds, “If we just up and leave, we’re not fulfilling our end of the contract-”

“Our lives are in danger!” Mingi exclaims, brows furrowing. 

“I know that,” The ex-trainee says. “But listen, these people are smart. They have eyes, and they have contingencies. We fuck them over, and they’ll probably find us before we can walk our sorry asses back to the ship park we came from. We’re on their turf. Until we can make contact, we do what we were told.”

“This is ludicrous.”

“This is business.”

Hongjoong nibbles on his bottom lip as he loses himself to thought. He needs solutions, but has no idea what they are. Sure, Yeosang spotted two, but are there more blackcoats crawling through the place? What happens if they shoot the wrong container? Is it all over for them? How can they get a leg up on well-equipped officers with superior equipment?

“We need more information,” Hongjoong mutters. “How many are there in total - we only know of two. If we could trace them somehow…” How he wishes Yeosang had brought one of his drones. Unfortunately, hindsight is twenty-twenty while his foresight has been comparable to the vision of a mole.

“What if I could get up?” Wooyoung asks.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Up and out-” He nods toward the ceiling, “-get on the roof of this thing. It’s stationary, should be safe. Maybe I can get some insight.”

“Or maybe you can show your position and get yourself killed,” The captain stressedly responds.

“Hongjoong, please, trust me. I can start with just a little peek.”

“How are you getting up there? I don’t see any manual exit panels.”

“Jongho will help me- right?” Woo flashes the other a winning smile.

“Uh, sure,” The youngest nods numbly. He still seems half-asleep, he must’ve been out.

“Perhaps we ought to set up a perimeter watch,” San suggests.

“A barrier watch…” The captain contemplates the idea, adapting it quickly. “I- I don’t want us to split up-”

“I know, Captain, but I wouldn’t be far,” The siren replies.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that. San can you scout two cars ahead of us- or- should we make it three?”

“I’ll do three to give us distance. I’m confident I can overpower unsuspecting humans with my voice, but… Well, should you hear anything peculiar echoing through the metal, please cover your ears.” The siren, typically bubbly and curious, shows a serious side that Hongjoong has never witnessed before. It’s easy to forget the other was trained to kill. To kill sirens, sea beasts, and - most crucially of all - humans. He said himself that they raised him to be a soldier. Whatever confusion he may have brewing inside doesn’t show one bit. Instead, the siren wears a mask of serene assurance, of confidence that he will come out on top.

Hongjoong knows he could sure as hell use some of that right now.

“Of course,” The captain nods. “Let’s mirror it. Mingi, can you find somewhere to hide three cars behind us?”

“Uh- Me?” Mingi asks incredulously.

“Yes, you. You’ll be fine. Comm us the second you see or hear anything.”

“A-Alone? In the dark?” The other’s squeaks.

“Jongho, will you go with Mingi? After you somehow bust a hole in this ceiling?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah,” The youngest responds like a kid who’d been asked to help clean the ship heat sink.

“Thank you. Prettyboy and me are with the cargo. Anyone hears anything, anyone sees anything, send a message, quiet. Try to stop them if it seems in your capabilities, but assess the situation first. I trust your judgment.”

“Yes.” “Okay.” “Yes, captain.” “Hm.”

“Any questions?” Hongjoong asks the crew. He’s met with shaking heads and vague grunts giving him a negative. Satisfied, the captain nods. 

An orchestra of ugly emotions blast in his head, practically deafening him. The cacophonic screeches make his temples throb and stomach turn, but he knows that paying them mind does him no service. It does his crew no service. He tries his best to stifle the noise, the worry, the guilt, the remorse, the anxiety, the anger, the sadness - all of it. He tells himself: it’s just noise. Just white noise. Repeating the mantra internally, he wills the amalgamation of his agitation to background noise.

“Alright,” He says. Though he only allowed himself a moment for contemplation, it felt so much longer. Acknowledging his crew feels like surfacing after being held underwater far too long. With a newly adrenaline-fueled clarity, he nods, telling them, “Let’s pry open a hatch.”

* * *

Yeosang switches back to nightvision and lets out the breath that’d been dammed up in his lungs. 

“We clear?” Yunho asks, voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” Yeo responds, “The thermal reading is too far gone. They won’t be able to hear us.”

“Good.”

Yeosang volunteers to lead the other. He unwedges himself from the tight space they’d wedged themselves into. He keeps his gaze fixed on the half-open door through which the officers disappeared. Though their heat signatures are long gone, the fear that they’ll emerge once more persists.

“How close do you think the front is?” Yunho asks quietly.

“No idea,” Yeo answers, nodding toward the path forward - toward the front. 

“Better be close. Not sure how much time we have.”

“All I know is that we ought to hurry.”

With that, the two lapse into silence. The quietness is juxtaposed by the frenetic way they weave between cargo containers and power walk toward the end of each car. Occasionally, Yeosang casts a glance over his shoulder. He half-expects to see them there. Watching, waiting, hands looming above the big guns sheathed in their holsters.

But they aren’t.

The fact hardly lends him any relief. If they’re not close to the front of the train, that means they’re venturing further back. They’ll be upon the crew in no time. Yeosang can only hope that the two officers are stopping to scan the cars between. Maybe that can buy them a little bit of time. He’ll take whatever seconds of idle chit-chat about dinner and their spouses the two will spare.

Out of his peripheral, Yeosang catches Yunho’s head whipping back. The cyborg freezes, mimicking the other. He doesn’t see anything, but the other’s cursory glance is enough to trigger alarm bells in his head.

“What- What is it?” Yeosang whispers.

“N-Nothing. Nothing, I think,” Yunho murmurs.

“You think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think it could be them?” Yeosang narrows his eyes, swapping to thermal for just a second. Everything beyond Yunho reads cold. No sign of life, just a series of vague, shifty shapes sitting in railcars.

“It… It didn’t sound like them. I don’t know. Just- Just keep moving on?” The canis urges him onward.

“Yunho, you’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

“I didn’t see anything, but- but the things I’m hearing are a different story.”

“Your ghost again?”

“Ugh, nevermin- hey. This car is different.”

Yeosang halts, scanning their surroundings in lieu of the other’s statement. His brows raise with surprise. The car they’re in is, in fact, different. He can’t make out the shapes well with his nightvision, but there is little to no cargo, and there are multiple panels on the wall.

“We must be close,” The knots in Yeo’s stomach disentangle slightly, just the tiniest hint of relief.

The cyborg dashes forward triumphantly, not caring about the sound of his boots against the metal floor. He pries the car doors open and a wide smile blooms across his features. Straight ahead of him is a control console of sorts, and beyond it, there’s even a viewing window.

“Fuck yeah,” Yeosang grins.

“Finally,” Yunho remarks.

Yeosang trots over to the console and immediately begins inspecting the wide expanse of controls.

“Any of this look familiar?” He asks.

Yunho purses his lips and shakes his head, “Not… Not entirely- Wait. Look there. That’s gotta be linked up to the nav, right? Look at the strip and hemisphere on the dash.”

Yeosang follows Yunho’s gaze to a keyset off to the side. There’s a little keypad with a compass and unlit orb beside it. Above the minified alphanumeric input pad is a small strip. Judging by the design and prior experience, Yeo imagines that the strip would be the projection hub for the navigation. If it was online. But it isn’t.

“Huh. Okay…” Yeosang bites down on his lip. He shifts his focus back to the main dash - a variety of buttons, switches and knobs front and center. The setup is fairly antiquated in his opinion, but he supposes at this point he ought to expect no less of Pomsch. The place seems to have a strange relationship with modernity. “Let’s see… I don’t know how their maintenance environment works, but there has to be a-”

Yunho uncouthly slaps a palm against the dashboard.

“Yunho!” Yeosang gasps. “You can’t just press buttons!”

“Why not?” The canis asks. He slides his palm across. “Not like this thing is working anyway.”

“Y-You have to go through a series of steps.”

“Do I, though?”

“Yes. Gods knows what you’re doing right now.”

“Nothing is happening.”

“Stop it, you’re gonna-”

_ “Bing!” _

The sudden noise makes both of them jump, and Yeosang’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest. A white warning crops up in front of the viewing window looking outside. The simple bulletin bears an exclamation point and reads:

“Cannot complete function due to remote maintenance outage. Turn on power and try again.”

“See!” Yunho grins triumphantly. “Look! I did something!”

“Wait, what?” Yeosang narrows his eyes at the bulletin, reading it again.

“I mean, I don’t know what I did, but-”

“No, shut up, that’s not what I meant. Look at the message.”

“Uh. I am. It’s telling us the power is out.”

“Yeah. Due to a ‘remote maintenance outage’. Remote.”

“So what- oh fuck, okay. I see what you’re getting at,” Yunho presses his lips together, tail dipping down. 

“This was done on purpose,” Yeosang says.

“By somebody- or, well, by some device not on this train.”

“Well, I think we already met who’s responsible.”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Yunho growls. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“We need power back. My guess is that those two officers are responsible for the outage.”

“Makes sense. But how’d they do it?”

“A device of sorts, I guess. Unless they alerted the carrier company and asked someone higher up to do it.”

“Not likely, I don’t think. Who would consent to having random packages shot? Not to mention having their transit time slowed. Not great for business.”

“They could chalk it up to something stupid. Weather. Malfunction- but you’re right. Not much of an incentive unless the Coalition’s got a  _ really  _ nice relationship with the shipping company.”

“So what do we think, then? That those two have some sort of… Jamming device fucking with the power?”

“Seems most likely to me. Electroweapons are tried and true. Wouldn’t take much to stop a train. Though one of this size...”

“And… We can’t do anything until the power is back on, can we?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Yeosang frowns. “Let’s message everyone and update them.”

“That’s the best we can do, I guess.”

The cyborg’s stomach tightens once again. He feels helpless, and, fuck, does he loathe the feeling. He wants nothing more than to help. To do and be a part of the solution, to fix the situation - to fix everything. Instead he just has to sit there and wait. Wait and hope and pray that somehow they figure out what the fuck is going on. He hates the idea of it so much, but he knows there’s no better choice. Though the thought of it almost makes him want to cry, he manages to hold back tears.

At least this time, he’s not alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 5 WARNING(s): guns, gun violence, gunshots, gun/bullet wounds, police, police brutality, mentioned human trafficking, implication of human trafficking, violence, fighting, violence, blood, mention of blood

Wooyoung grips the edge of the conveniently placed hole Jongho made in the roof of the car. He grimaces as he hoists himself up, legs swinging beneath him. With a mighty push, Wooyoung manages to get his torso on top. He sucks in a few deep breaths for a moment.

“Anything up there?” A voice echoes out from below. Woo looks into the hole from whence he emerged. It’s dark in there. Impossibly so. Compared to the clear night above, the train car looks like the pit of hell, steeped in blood.

“U-Um-” Woo casts a cursory glance across the horizon. He’s only half up, and he can’t see much. The top of the train is flat metal. Completely unremarkable. There are no other people - that’s a relief. There’s nothing, actually. Wooyoung’s hasty thoughts slow a bit upon taking in their surroundings. It’s… Beautiful in a way.

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing around them. They appear to be in the middle of a desert of sorts. Above the curve of the train, Woo can just barely see rock formations in the distance. They emerge from the dusty, splintered land as if they had clawed their way to the surface. The sky is clear, utterly clear, and peering at it evokes the feeling of looking into a crystalline pool. Two small moans glimmer, one with silver light and one with a hint of green in its glow. Between them thousands (if not, millions) of twinkles dot the starscape. In another situation, the sky above would be beautiful, something to marvel at, to lose oneself in.

But tonight is not that night.

“It’s clear,” Wooyoung tells the others below him. “I’m gonna go up.”

“Okay.” “Be careful.” “Holler if you need anything.” A few voices trickle through the hole as Wooyoung shimmies the rest of his body up. After some determined wiggling, he manages to get his entire body on top of the thing. Slowly, he gets onto his feet, knees wobbling like a newborn’s.

From standing, Wooyoung can see more, but the insight does little for him. He takes in the landscape surrounding them - barren desert. There are a few shrubs and brushy trees dotting the landscape beyond, but little else. The air is dry and cold, inclining Woo to zip his jacket all the way up. A cool breeze blows, the wind penetrating his fur-collared bomber with far too much ease.

Nervousness.

That would be the logical thing to feel, Woo guesses. One ought to be nervous in this situation. Perhaps even scared. And, yes, Wooyoung does feel those things - somewhat. However, the sensations are dampened to him, like a lamp covered by a cloth. The diffusion of such things are what enable him to volunteer for the hard, risky jobs. He’s aware that being the one on top of the train, being the one out in the open, the one up high - that this carries a risk. A stiff breeze or surprise attack could undo him easily. He could topple off of the train and twist his neck; he could get pushed off or shot from behind. He knows that.

He just doesn’t care.

If it happens, it happens. As long as he can, in some way, make himself useful prior to his expiration, he’s content.

“Where did you park?” Wooyoung mutters, asking the proverbial Coalition officer. He sees nothing in front of him but train. He entertains the idea of a cloaking device as he walks forward carefully. Perhaps they cloaked their craft, he muses. But then, where would they enter?

The first mate hops onto the adjacent car, eyes wandering. The light of two moons does wonder for nighttime illumination, but he still can’t see anything of note. Usually, common Coalition cloaking is fairly shitty. If someone looked hard enough, they could see the cloak constantly refreshing, see the way it just ever so slightly distorts the image of what’s supposed to be there. Wooyoung squints, trying to detect any indication of such distortion.

“If I was a shit-for-brains blackcoat, where would I park?” He asks himself. “Would I park on top of a car? Or…”

An idea crops up in his head, and he promptly drops to his knees. Wooyoung slowly shuffles toward the side of the car. The slight downward curve makes him slide with more ease than he’d like. Carefully, Wooyoung lays his palms down. A shiver runs over his body as the cool metal saps heat from his hands. Slowly, Woo lowers himself flat onto his stomach.

He inches over left, all while staying on his stomach, digging his boots into the metal beneath in hopes that the soles can maintain some semblance of grip. He has no idea if there are any sort of hand or footholds on the side of the train. He’d prefer not to find out the hard way.

Once he gets close enough, Wooyoung peers over the side of the train and squints. Stretching in front of him, he can see car after car after car after car. Somewhere in the lateral maze, Yunho and Yeosang are trying to get the damn thing running. San is there, too, keeping guard. Beautiful, brave San. Wooyoung’s heart registers a faint ache at the thought of the other. He ignores it, though, his brain quickly proceeding to the next distraction.

A shape.

It’s true that in front of him he sees car after car after car after car - but something is different about one of the cars. Something is off. All of the other cars appear similar. Sure, their colors differ and, yes, there are differing levels of wear. But they still appear mostly uniform, little ducks marching perfectly in a row.

  
Except one.

One has a blemish. A jarringly apparent jutting blemish.

“Found you.” Wooyoung smirks, satisfied. 

Parked on the side of one of the cars is a vehicle of sorts. A two-seated hovercruiser, if Woo had to guess. The first mate shimmies back to the center of the car before rising to his feet yet again. He makes haste in heading toward the thing, hopping across the cars with reinvigorated determination.

He’s seen cruisers affix to trucks and ships, but never to a train. That’s a new one. It works, though. The bond is magnetic, so of course it works. All they have to do is turn it on, and they’re glued to their target. They look like ticks to Wooyoung. Ugly, wretched things that just latch on and refuse to let go until they’ve sucked every last drop - gotten their arrest, gotten their little goody medals and pats on the ass.

“Beep.”

Wooyoung withdraws his comm from the pocket of his bomber and reads a message:

Yeosang: we cant do shit until power is back on

yeosang: says there’s a remote outage, probably the blackcoats

“Yup,” Wooyoung answers verbally. He taps out his response:

wooyoung: i am on it

wooyuong: found their cruiser half a dozen cars fore

wooyuong: my guess is the destabilizer is there. Will report shortly

Woo picks up into a light jog, hoping the sound of his footsteps doesn’t alert the blackcoats to his presence. Maybe they’ll think it’s a bird or something. Not like it matters. He’s more concerned with getting what information he can off of their cruiser.

“There you are,” Wooyoung murmurs, pleased with himself. He peers over the side of the car at the exposed two-seater magnetically attached to the railcar. From his vantage, he can see straight in which tells him that it’s one of the cute barrier types - the ones without a real solid hull that just use barriers. The purpose is to give the officers a full three-sixty vantage of their surroundings. For Woo, it makes breaking in way easier.

The first mate lowers himself onto the car again and swings his legs over the side. He slowly scoots over to the edge until Pomsch’s gravity kicks. He sticks his hands down beside him to slow his descent. The cruiser is right there. There’s no way he’ll miss it. Still, the thought that maybe the barrier is on - or that there’s an alarm rigged up or that maybe he bounces off of it and falls wrong - lingers in the back of his mind.

Wooyoung’s eyes squeeze shut as he slides off the edge. The fall isn’t far, but he still grimaces when his feet hit the smooth, upholstered seats of the cruiser. He fumbles slightly, sliding around awkwardly until he finds himself in the driver’s seat of the little cruiser.

“No barrier field? Figures,” Woo huffs. If there’s one thing he learned about blackcoats during his time as a trainee, it’s that they’re overconfident. The morons probably thought that this shipment would be completely unguarded. They probably figured that they’d dispose of it and be off, in and out in a few minutes.

“Now let’s see- oh? And you’ve got your mission brief just- just right there,” Woo laughs wryly. Seriously, how stupid can they be? Once again, their glibness is getting the best of them. Their brief sits right above the console, projection flickering against the backdrop of the desert night.

“Now let’s see here,” Wooyoung mumbles while skimming. “Two agents… Supposed to be covert- yeah, well, too fucking late for that. Terminate- fuck. Terminate objective and leave. What the fuck? Why would they terminate and not confiscate- wait a minute-”

Woo spies the crest on the corner of the screen. In the middle of the Galactic Coalition's trademark eight-pointed star is a symbol. Two triangles, one larger with a smaller one overlapping diagonally. It’s meant to resemble sails, indicative of the navy.

“Huh. How about that,” Wooyoung remarks, brows furrowing. 

The Naval division of the Coalition handles interstellar shit, but they also deal with trade, trafficking, smuggling - all the fun stuff that comes with alternative commerce channels, really. They do an awkward dance with the planetary infantry - what people often regard as the normal police - because of it. From what Wooyoung remembers, the two divisions always went back and forth. A lot of power struggles and red tape, stepping over one another’s toes, vying for investigations. For what? He can’t even remember the reasons supplied. Clout and recognition, he supposes, are the real answer.

However, the involvement of the naval division does give him one valuable nugget of knowledge. What they’re watching is something serious. Naval doesn’t get involved with petty shit - even if it does fall under the commerce-slash-trade umbrella.

Wooyoung types out a message to the crew:

wooyoung: it’s just 2 of them, naval

wooyoung: they were ordered to terminate the package whatever that means

“You must be small fries,” Wooyoung mutters, reading the dockett again. “They didn’t even tell you what you’re looking for or why you’re terminating.” He can’t say he’s surprised. The Coalition certainly operates on a need-to-know basis. It’s an easy way to exert control over the ranks. 

Knowledge is power, after all.

For an instant, pain stabs Wooyoung straight through the heart. The dagger twists, dragging up an ugly swell of pain. Memories.

He snuffs them down stubbornly, throwing himself into the task at hand.

_ “Beep.” _

Wooyoung glances at his comm again. It’s a message from Yeosang. The power is off. It’s been shut off remotely.

Woo leans back in the driver’s seat and contemplates the capabilities of the cruiser. He doesn’t know much about their more sophisticated functions. Much less this specific model. They can be outfitted with all manner of capabilities - all depending on the job.

It’s possible that this one is equipped with a power disruptor.

Wooyoung messages Yeosang:

**wooyoung** : i’m in the cruiser now. It’s possible the disruptor is here. I doubt a handheld one would be big enough to shut down an entire train.

**yeosang** : thank you.

**yeosang** : if you videocomm me, maybe we can work on figuring this out together

Woo smiles, typing back:

**wooyoung** : call me baby ;)

* * *

San presses himself against the wall of the train car. How surreal it is to be in such a situation, he muses. To think, a month ago he knew nothing of train cars distant planets with their own thriving ecosystem and sub economies. Yet, there he stands, completely entrenched in one. It’s equal parts fascinating and nerve wracking. Luckily, the siren had been training to keep his wits about him in situations just like the one he’d ended up in.

The siren steadies his breaths, efforting to keep them inaudible. He waits by the far door of the car - the one the two officers would emerge through. His plan is simple: let them walk through and lull them into a deep, restful sleep. It’s unfortunate, his greatest asset compromises his stealth, but it’s the best he can think of.

It’s eerily quiet without the thrum of the machine beneath him. Even in the depths of the Sent Oceans from which he came, there was always the sound of the shifting tides. Between the starship, the crew, and all of the bustling places they’d landed, San had gotten so accustomed to noise. Hearing none set his teeth on edge.

The siren waits patiently, gooseflesh poking out from his skin. He reminds himself that he had been trained to do things just like this.

But training and reality are different. He knows that.

_ “-thud…” _ A faint noise reverberates through the metal wall of the car.

  
San’s tangent of thought immediately halts. He devotes all of his attention to the soft sound of approaching footsteps. He hesitantly withdraws his comm to warn the others. The siren types clumsily, his nervousness causing multiple keypresses and errors. He doesn’t care so long as the job is done, and when he considers the message adequate, he sends it onward.

san: 2 coming close i hear them

“Thud… Thud… Thud…” They come closer.

Even though he had employed his vocal manipulation tactic before, the siren feels rusty. He takes a deep breath in preparation and mentally runs over proper technique. The most skilled siren warriors can “turn it on” with effortless ease. They can imbue their normal speech with hypnotic intonations without even trying; they can wield their voices in such a way that even those around them can be oblivious to the intention. San is not nearly as masterful, and he gets stricken with a minor twinge of paranoia that he never will be. Without the close supervision and counseling of other skilled sirens, will he ever progress?

Why does it matter?

San shakes the thoughts away, wrestling back his focus.

_ “Thud… Thud… Thud…” _

The sound is closer. A hushed muttering accompanies their footsteps, telling the siren that they’re conversing among themselves. San estimates them to be in the adjacent car. He braces himself, picking a melody and wrapping his mind around it.

_ “Thud-Thud!” _

The siren jolts slightly at the parting of the nearby door. He stays in place, waiting for both of the officers to enter the metal box. It’ll make for a fantastic amplifier.

“-im if he keeps drinking my fucking coffee, I’m gonna start charging him,” One of the officers, a person with a lower voices, speaks animatedly. They speak as if they’re drinking spirits in the barracks, not on a search and destroy mission.

“You keep talking up how shiny that coffee is. Of course someone’s gonna want to try it,” Another, someone with a higher voice, replies.

“They can get their own, then. The beans are imported from YAU16, roasted in a G2V sunforge…”

San takes a soft breath, turning out their conversation and preparing himself. He wets his lips before forming a ring with them and letting out air to whistle. He starts with a high sound - something that can, hopefully, be mistaken for machinery or the wind beyond the car.

“What’s that sound?” The one with the higher voice cuts the other off.

“Huh?”

They stop. San continues, dropping into a lower sound.

“What… The…?” The officer with the higher voice stumbles into cargo, clutching their head.

“The hell is that?” The other one groans. They walked past San initially, but he backtracks toward San. While the officer with the higher voice slowly drops to the ground, the deeper one stomps straight toward the voice.

Shit.

A miscalculation. A costly one at that.

San gasps when he’s found pressed against the far corner. He drops the siren’s song immediately and transitions into hand-to-hand. The deep-voiced blackcoat is stocky. They come across as the type to utilize brute strength. San is the opposite. He attempts to out maneuver them, but they’re quicker than they look. The bulky blackcoat reaches an arm out and catches San in his attempt to wiggle away.

_ “Clang!” _

The siren chokes on air when he’s thrown to the ground. The wind gets knocked out of his lungs, and he curses that such a thing can happen to him. The shortcomings of being in an air environment hold him back. 

“Looks like we’ve got a passenger,” The stocky blackcoat utters. 

Their partner peels themself off of the ground, using nearby crates for support, “Is that so? Fuck- How the fuck did he do that?”

“I don’t know. Portable sound weapon?”

“Frisk him,” The light-voiced one grunts.

San has no intention of being “frisked” - whatever that entails. He recollects his nerves and rolls out of the way when the other reaches for him. Quickly, the siren is back on his feet. He plants one foot for balance and fires the other one directly at the aggressor’s head. The blackcoat’s head whips aside with a satisfying snap.

Their stocky body stumbles backward, but, shockingly, they’re not down. The siren grits his teeth. This is getting annoying. Thankfully, the light-voiced blackcoat is still drowsy. San takes initiative to pivot, establishing balance to land another kick on the reeling blackcoat’s gut. 

The blackcoat stumbles back, just barely avoiding the siren’s foot. He clumsily paws at his belt, withdrawing a hand weapon that San believes to be a laser shooter. Nervousness thrums in his chest at the sight of the thing. He has seen the capabilities of Coalition weaponry up close. He certainly does not want to be in the crosshairs of one of those things. The shooter begins to illuminate as it powers on, a pale blue light pulsing from the stylized cracks.

_ “Zzzt!”  _

Though sluggish in all other aspects, the blackcoat’s trigger finger is quick. Too quick for San’s liking. The siren gasps, throwing his body against the wall to dodge the bolt. The discharge hits the wall behind him, fizzling angrily before fading out.

“Get down, and put your hands up!” The officer demands, gun levelled at San’s head. “You’re under arrest by the Galactic Coalition Naval Branch District Thirty-Six-Twenty.”

San nearly laughs in amusement. As if he would ever give in to such demands. The siren does exactly the opposite. He ducks down to avoid a trigger-happy laser before surging up, leaving one foot on the ground and using the other to kick the blackcoat under the jaw. 

_ “Clack.” _ The human’s teeth make a glorious sound upon contact. San knows it hurts, and he can’t help the twinge of satisfaction that he feels. Unfortunately, the glimmer of pride comes on all too soon. In spite of taking a dreadful hit, the bulky blackcoat has the wits to close a hand around San’s ankle.

The siren yelps when he’s tugged abruptly, taken completely off balance. San’s own jaw hits the ground, teeth knocking painfully. Tears fill his eyes by reflex, but the only thought that registers in his head is hate. He struggles against the other’s grip, clawing at the ground to stop himself from getting dragged.

“You are under arrest. Surrender,” The bulky blackcoat uses a free hand to keep their shooter pointed at San. The siren wants to thrash and struggle and flail, but the blue glow of the muzzle pointed at him dissuades him. It doesn’t help that the other has gotten their wits about them, too. Though still clearly dazed, they, too, have withdrawn their shooter.

“You’re gonna tell us where the goods are,” The light-voiced one says, tone still slightly slurred. “Cooperate, and we might be able to lighten the sentence.”

San keeps his mouth shut stubbornly. He shoots them a look of pure, acrid anger - a silent “fuck you”.

“Listen kid,” The one holding San huffs, “This can go one of two ways. You can show us where the goods are and maybe we can work something out. We’re gonna take them out, either way. Do you really wanna go with ‘em? Are they worth it?”

San adamantly keeps his silence.

“Well? Do you? Do you!?”

“Enough,” The smaller one holds up a hand. Their gun goes dark, and they reholster it. For a second, San wonders if he may be encountering some uncharacteristic act of mercy. Or perhaps it’s all an act.

  
His blood chills when the smaller one withdraws another arm. It’s similar to the other one, except there are no lights, no indicators at all.

_ “Click-click.” _

“You ever seen a ballistic gun, kid?” They ask, pointing the barrel straight at him.

It takes the siren a few moments to connect the dots. It’s not something he had encountered much prior to boarding ATEEZ. Unfortunately, after the event on the giant warship, he’d become all too familiar with what “ballistic” means. They are bullets, little metal pellets shot by ignited powder. Painful things. Tiny but capable of inflicting pain, injury, and death. Death by their hand is not necessarily instant, either. The siren shivers.

“So,” The blackcoat steps forward just to bear over him intimidatingly. “You feel like saying anything.”

San blinks the tears out of his eyes and nods. He takes a deep, shaky breath and shouts, at the top of his lungs.

“Help!”

* * *

“Fuck!” Hongjoong clamors to the door working his fingers into the seam. “We need to go. Now!”

“How the hell did they get past a siren?” The platinum blond muses.

“Does that really fucking matter? He needs help.”

“It could be a trap.”

Hongjoong can’t even summon the fucks to give about the other’s lack of care. He just works at the door, sighing with relief when the panels start to part.

“Fine. I go alone. Watch the shit.”

“Is that the wisest thing for you to do? You’re the captain-”

“Exactly. And he’s part of my crew, so,” The captain sighs with relief when the doors part, and he doesn’t hesitate to step through. “I’m gonna help him.” He rushes into the electrorail car, weaving between crates. The blood red light makes it difficult to see, but he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t care about the bruises he gets from bumping into things, the scrapes that sharp corners score across his legs and arms. His vision tunnels.

San is in trouble, that’s all that matters.

“Sh-Shouldn’t you delegate, then?” Prettyboy’s voice echoes behind him. Hongjoong didn’t even notice the other following him. It strikes him that leaving the cargo unmanned might be detrimental to their efforts, but he doesn’t care.

“Sure. I delegate you to tell Jongho to get his ass over here.”

“Wha-?”

“Comm. Message Jongho. You know, the strong one you’re weirdly afraid of.”

“I- I know who he is,” The blond murmurs. “Okay… Um- Right-”

Hongjoong hurriedly tries to pry the next door open. Sweat drips down his nape, and he’s not sure if it’s the mugginess of the train or his own nerves roasting him. Anxiety vibrates in his chest violently as they advance. He can think of no other way to quell it than assuring San is okay. San is strong and confident in his skills. If he’s asking for help, there must be trouble.

  
The captain just prays he isn’t too late. Just the mere thought of the other-

No.

He can’t think about that. He refuses to.

Swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat, the captain works at another door, cursing as he struggles. 

Suddenly, another set of hands is present, working with him to open the way. Hongjoong’s eyes widen at Prettyboy’s participation. Sure, the other is present, but he barely gave it much thought. For some reason, he didn’t expect the blond to help.

“What are you doing?” Prettyboy chides him, sour expression exaggerated by the harsh red light. 

“Wh-”

“P-pull!” 

“Right. I was- I was doing that,” The captain responds dazedly. 

Now in tandem, the two work together, parting the door with ease. By the time they’re in the next car, the sounds of struggling can be heard coming through the far door. Hongjoong runs recklessly toward the far side of the car, and the noises get louder. Together, they go for the last door between them and San. It flies open with far too much ease.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong both gasp when they realize why. On the other side, one of the blackcoats had already been working it. They immediately come face to face with a rather built person donning the Naval Coalition uniform.

“We’ve got another two at our twelve!” Their deep voice bellows. In one hand they wield a Coalition issued laser shooter, the lights glowing blue. The other has San’s shirt in a vice grip.

Hongjoong steps back, devastation clawing at his insides when he takes in the siren’s state. It’s nearly impossible to see the blood on his face. If not for the reflective wetness on his temple, the captain might not have noticed. The siren’s body trails behind the officer, completely limp. Unfortunately, that’s not all. Behind the bulky blackcoat is one more slight. They, too, have their shooter pointed directly at them.

“Surrender!” The smaller of the two blackcoats demands.

Hongjoong’s mind reels, grasping for a solution, for a way to process this and strategize. But he can’t. All he can focus on is the blue glow of the shooter pointed right at him. He steps back, hands up as if with the intent of surrender. He calls bullshit on that. “Surrender”. As if they would let any of them out unscathed either way.

“Get down! Now!” The blackcoat demands.

The captain damn near obliges out of sheer loss. He doesn’t know what to do. His best bet is waiting for Jongho, he supposes, but San looks bad. How long will he last without medical attention? The thought twists the dagger in Hongjoong’s chest. 

“How many of you are there?” The blackcoat asks. They step forward, the captain and blond step back.

Hongjoong couldn’t answer if he wanted to. His nerves have effectively welded his mouth shut. All he can do is attempt to make some sort of plan while trying not to cry.

The blackcoats advance further into the car - further toward the cargo, toward the rest of the crew, “I said, how many of you are- wahh-ff-!”

In an instant, something sends the larger of the two teetering back into the smaller one.

“Get the siren!” Prettyboy’s voice pierces the veil of dismay that had formed around the captain. Hongjoong snaps out of his anxiety-induced stasis and gets to work. He can’t even acknowledge the utter shock from what he just saw;  _ Prettyboy  _ of all people kicked a blackcoat square in the gut.

Hongjoong ducks down to grab San while the blond pursues the larger of the two. The captain hoists his arms under the siren’s shoulders and starts dragging him back toward the car they’d come from. Prettyboy does an admirable job holding the two off in the interim, but Joong knows he won’t last long. He finds a small gap between a container and the wall and wedges San there upright. He hopes that keeping the siren out of the way will assure he remains in relative safety. 

One of the officers, the burlier one, makes a move to grab Seonghwa. Hongjoong rushes forward and ducks down, under the two grappling. He drives his shoulder into the big one’s waist, hoping to help topple them. The stocky blackcoat makes an agonized groan at the pressure on their stomach and relinquishes their hold on Seonghwa. The officer’s off hand still has a solid grip around the laser shooter, and the erratic way they wave it around unnerves Hongjoong.

Seonghwa pivots on his foot, getting on the other side of the big blackcoat so he can reach for the arm. He grabs for it, and the two struggle. Hongjoong’s heart leaps into this throat when he sees the blue glow wave around frenziedly. The last thing they need is an accidental discharge. Who knows where it could land. 

Hongjoong joins to help. He’s not used to armed combatants, but he figures the more people vying for the gun, the worse for them - right? The captain lands a swift punch on the big one’s face. It doesn’t do much, but the brief pause it causes is enough to give Joong an opening. He moves to help Seonghwa pry the damn thing out of the blackcoat’s hands.

“Clunk!”

The shooter drops, and Hongjoong gasps with elation. He, Seonghwa, and the bigger blackcoat clamor for it. However, Hongjoong finds himself yanked back with abrupt force. 

Oh right. There’s two of them. 

Hongjoong’s body flies into a nearby container. His back hits the sharp corner, and sharp pain shocks him, radiating from the point of impact. He winces and tries to catch his breath. By the time he’s done blinking the tears out of his eyes, the muzzle of a Coalition standard disciplinary laser shooter is levelled with his head.

“If you refuse to stand down, you will surrender any rights you have moving forward,” The smaller blackcoat snarls. “That clear?”

The gun in his face is clear enough.

“Now put your hands up,” They demand. All the while, Seonghwa continues to grapple on the ground. Every time he or the other officer reaches for the gun, it slides across the floor, nudging further and further away.

“I said hands  _ up _ !” The officer occupied with Hongjoong shouts.

The captain heaves a sigh and obliges. Slowly. Very, very slowly. He takes a few breaths to steel himself. Pain echoes across his body, pulsing from scrapes, scratches, and darkening bruises. His head throbs - the combination of stress, uncertainty, anxiety and physical exertion taking its toll. He calculates possibilities - adds up the sums, the wins and losses that could be gained for all the little risks he could take just about now.

“Put ‘em up! Above your head!” The officer demands.

In the mirky, blood-colored light, it’s hard to find exactly where the blackcoat’s eyes are. Hongjoong tries his best to approximate them, to match the blackcoat’s ferocious gaze. They’re close - far too fucking close, and Hongjoong doesn’t like that. Not one bit. He’s had it up to his ears in Coalition shit, and he’s tired of being backed into walls (or cargo containers). Hands up, the captain levels his eyes with theirs, and he responds.

“Fuck you,” The captain growls. He lifts his foot and, with all the force he can muster, he brings his boot down onto their foot. He’s relieved to discover they’re not wearing armored boots for the job. He, on the other hand, always prefers a hardy boot. They come in handy for all sorts of occasions - junking, labor, bar brawls. 

A sickly crunch sounds out, followed by a loud wail.

The captain uses the opening to spin out of the other’s crosshairs and gives their wrist a knock. The blackcoat reels back, cursing through gritted teeth as they collapse against a container. Hongjoong genuinely does consider himself a peaceful person, but, fuck, was that satisfying. He can’t help but grin.

His smug pleasure doesn’t last long, though. He remembers there are two of them, and while one is crying over a broken foot, the other is flattening Seonghwa onto the ground as they wrestle for a gun. Hongjoong grimaces at the grotesque sight. He notices a pulsing blue light by his feet. The gun.

The thought of using the thing irks him, but he resigns himself - desperate times, and all. The captain grabs the shooter and fiddles with it. He’s still not familiar with the things (and isn’t eager to be). Thankfully, they’re fairly idiot-proof. He slides back a switch of sorts, and the light stops pulsing, growing steadily. He’s pretty sure he turned off the safety. He hopes he did. 

  
The captain levels the sights with his eyes and aims in the direction of the two struggling on the ground.

“Seonghwa!”

  
“What?”

“Get him off of you so I can shoot his ass.”

“Y-You’re next, don’t think you aren’t!” The blackcoat, now very clearly winded, wheezes.

“Sure thing,” Hongjoong feels around for the trigger.

“Fuck-! C-Careful with that!” Seonghwa gasps as he struggles.

“Yeah, just stay still,” The captain replies.

“Are you kidding m-!”  _ “Thud!”  _ Seonghwa’s head slams into the floor with an ugly sound. The blackcoat seizes the opportunity to gain an advantageous position, straddling the blond and twisting an arm behind his back. He reaches into his belt, presumably for cuffs, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him have the chance. 

Even though the idea of shooting anything freaks him out, he aims the shooter straight at the blackcoat’s back and squeezes the trigger. 

_ “Zzzt!” _

The little blue laserbolt flies out from the muzzle. The kickback isn’t horrible, but it’s enough to startle the captain, making him fumble and drop it. Luckily, it’d been an easy, point blank shot. The blue bolt hits the target dead on, and electricity begins to fizzle and jump around their body. Seonghwa turns onto his back and scoots away rushedly to avoid being caught by any stray discharges. The two both watch as the blackcoat’s body seizes up before finally crumbling onto the ground.

“Fuck,” The blond wrings a hand through his hair. Though it’s dark, Hongjoong can see the sheen of sweat beading on the other’s forehead. His chest heaves from exertion. He mutters, “Thank you.” After a moment of catching his breath, he tacks on idly, “They didn’t even try to de-escalate.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. Just as he opens his mouth to remind the other that he had no such privilege prior, a loud noise rumbles out from behind them.

“Ahhhh!” The light-voiced blackcoat screeches like a banshee. Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s eyes both blow wide open, following the source of the sound. The person runs straight toward Hongjoong, and the captain braces himself for impact. 

Except, instead of tackling him into the ground, they run straight past, through the parted car doors.

The captain’s jaw goes slack, “What the…?!”

“The cargo! That was their real objective!” 

“Shit! And they have ballistics, don’t they!?”

“We need to go. This entire train could get set ablaze,” Seonghwa uses a nearby crate to hoist himself onto his feet.

“Fuck- What about San?”

“I- Will he be okay?”

“Uh- Go! I’ll grab him!”

Seonghwa nods before leading the charge and running after the crazed blackcoat. Hongjoong steps over the stocky one’s body and returns to the front where he’d seated San. The siren looks worse for wear, but the steady rise and fall of his chest tells Hongjoong that the other is alive. He’s relieved.

Hongjoong hurriedly pulls the other out. He doesn’t have time to carry the other in a way that’s “nice” or even efficient. Thankfully, the siren is skinny. Joong throws the other over his shoulder with relative ease. The strain of carrying the other isn’t much compared to all of the other aches and pains in his body. He’d gotten practice hauling junk up and down heaps, people weren’t too much worse.

_ “Bang...! Bang!”  _

Hongjoong gasps, his panic igniting. He picks up the pace, but he can’t go too quickly with San in tow (lest he bang the other’s head into every crate jutting out).

“Seonghwa?” He calls out. “Seonghwa?!”

“I- I’m fine!” The other hollers back, voice strained. 

When Hongjoong arrives, he’s relieved to see the other isn’t bleeding out on the ground. The blackcoat’s aim is at the hinges of the container - the one they’d been protecting. 

  
Fuck.

“You two best stand down!” The blackcoat barks over their shoulder. “Once I complete my mission, all of you are under arrest!”

“You don’t want to do that,” Hongjoong says, trying to muster a mask of confidence. “You shoot what’s in there, this entire place goes up.”

“Bullshit!” The blackcoat snaps back. They level their bullet with one of the corner hinges of the front-loading container and-

_ “Bang!” _

Hongjoong jumps, clinging to San, and even the blond flinches. It’s not an easy position to be in. Being stunned is one thing. Being shot with a ballistic? The risk isn’t just a brief KO - it’s death.

Hongjoong pleads, stress levels starting to rise while his adrenaline begins to taper off, “Please. I’m serious! The stuff that’s in there it’s- it’s...”

“Vrrrr…” 

A low rumbling noise stops him in his tracks. Suddenly, faint vibrations pulse through the metal into Hongjoong’s feet. He checks the ground beneath him, as if he’d be able to see an oncoming earthquake.

“Fuck.” “Shit!” “The light-!” All three present in the car curse at once as bright lights switch on, briefly dazzling them. They hadn’t even been on before.

Hongjoong gasps,”What the-”

The train suddenly jerks, and everyone present stumbles forward. The white noise that had been present before returns, and their bodies quickly adjust to the momentum.

They did it. They restored power to the train.

The blackcoat turns on their heel, incredulous, “How the hell did you-?!” Before finishing the thought, they press their wrist with the grip of their gun. A projection crops up - they must have an implant, too, Hongjoong muses. “Commander Tinez signalling to patrol, I’m gonna need-”

Seonghwa uses the momentary distraction to step forward and kick the blackcoat’s wrist. It effectively shuts off their transmission The blackcoat - Commander Tinez, so they’re called - fumbles with the ballistic. Unfortunately, they recover it. 

“Stand down!” The Commander demands, distress signal forgotten in favor of levelling the gun at the three ATEEZ crew members. “Now, you better put your fucking hands up! Or else I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” A voice echoes from behind her.

The officer’s eyes go wide, and they pivot around. Emerging from behind the container is none other than ATEEZ’s own guardian angel: Choi Jongho. Hongjoong could cry with relief at the sight of the other, but knowing that the officer’s gun is aimed straight at him, he can’t feel all that swell about the other’s return.

The captain tries to warn the other, “Jongho, be careful, they’ve got a-”

Jongho, uncaring ducks and runs.

_ “Bang! Bang!” _

With every bullet discharge, Hongjoong can feel his panic rise. Every bullet unloaded is another chance that Jongho - or any one of them - won’t come out alive. 

Jongho, however, doesn’t share the captain’s fear. He manages to tackle them down onto the ground. Though the blackcoat grapples, they’re no match for Jongho’s brute strength. Jongho is swift and (relatively) merciful. He lands a blow on the other’s temple, and the light of consciousness fades from their eyes pretty quickly. The blackcoat goes limp, ragdolling onto the ground with a low groan.

Then, everything goes quiet. Well, not too quiet, thankfully. The train whirrs with movement around them, and the sound of wind coming in through the open ceiling panel whistles across the car. The noise is nice. Though Hongjoong knows that his feelings of nervousness and worry will persist for hours on, relief starts to gradually sink in.

“I-Is it safe to come out now?” A low voice bounces down the car. The tall Venusian timidly emerges from behind the container, wringing his hands. 

“Mingi? Are you okay?” Hongjoong asks. He carefully squats down so he can lower San onto the ground.

“Yeah. Um. I’m fine. I heard shots. It was so loud… Is everyone okay?”

“Um.” “Uh, yeah?” “The siren…”

“San!” Mingi gasps. He immediately rushes over to the other’s side to hold him. “What happened to him?”

“The blackcoats,” Hongjoong frowns, a twinge of guilt striking him.

“There’s only two of them, right?” Prettyboy asks. Though he’s worn from the fighting, he speaks composedly. 

“A-As far as we know,” Jongho shrugs, stepping off of the knocked out blackcoat. He leans against the container, gripping a bloodied arm. Hongjoong hopes it’s the blackcoat’s blood and not his. It’s hard to tell.

“Okay. Good thing they got this thing moving,” Hongjoong wrings a hand through his hair. Suddenly, he remembers something. “Wait-! Shit! Wooyoung! Isn’t he on top?!”

“Yeah, he’s probably dead now!” A voice shouts out from behind him. 

Hongjoong turns, eyes wet, wide and dazed. Relief floods him at the sight of Yunho, Yeosang and Wooyoung walking back together. Wooyoung walks alongside Yunho, his arm linked with the canis while Yeosang walks on his other side, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“How’d you get back in?” The captain asks. He doesn’t know why, but he’s overcome with the urge to hug the other. He steps forward and opens his arms. The first to meet him is Wooyoung, who squeezes him tight and cuddles into the crook of the captain’s neck. Hongjoong normally isn’t the affectionate type, but a near-death experience warrants it, he’s pretty sure.

“Yunho and Yeosang helped me out further up,” Woo answers.

“Did you think we’d power it back up with Wooyoung still out there?” Yeosang laughs wryly.

“It’s not easy to think straight when your ass is being hounded by a couple of blackcoats,” Hongjoong answers. “Th-There were only two of them, right?”

“Yes, captain,” Woo answers, “Checked their brief on the cruiser. Just those two. Also took the liberty of detaching the cruiser which was, uh, an ordeal. We made it, though.”

“Good call.”

Hongjoong glances across the room. One, two, three, four, five… Eight. Eight of them present, eight of them alive. Eight of them… Not all unscathed. But alive. He could cry from relief.

“Okay. Um- Did you pass a- a guy on your way here?” Hongjoong asks the tech trio.

“The blackcoat?” Yunho answers.

“Yeah.”

“Yup. They’re out cold.”

“What do you propose we do with them? It wouldn’t do for them to wake up here. We still have another hour and a half to go,” Yeosang says.

“I know. Let me just… Let me just think,” Hongjoong searches the car as if the unremarkable metal walls will give him some miraculous solution.

“Captain,” Prettyboy’s voice is soft when he asks for the other’s attention. “Up there.” He nods to the open ceiling hatch.

“Oh. That’s… Not a bad idea. But- Being thrown off of a moving train-”

“Coalition standard uniforms are equipped with emergency intervention armor. The standard fit doesn’t include hand-to-hand shock absorption, but they’ll deploy in case of an emergency - like, say falling off of a moving vehicle.”

It takes Hongjoong far too long to decode the other’s verbose message. It’s not that he lacks the vocabulary; it’s the brain power he lacks at the moment. Though he’s out of the immediately stressful situation, his body is still just coming down from its high. Once he parses it, he nods.

“Can we get them up there?”

“Leave it to me,” Jongho says windedly. 

“I can, uh, grab that other one,” Yunho volunteers.

Not ten minutes, they’re conveniently rid of their blackcoat problem. In proper light, Hongjoong can see just how ragged everyone appears. Mingi looks paler than ever as he tends to poor, wounded San. The siren is still out, but his wounds have at least been cleaned, thanks to the Venusian. Prettyboy managed to save his face, but Hongjoong can spot welts sticking out through holes in his clothing. His blond hair is tousled and his sweaty bangs cling to his forehead. He’s got a faraway look in his eye.

To think, he defended ATEEZ’s crew without a second thought. It still astounds Hongjoong. He’s well aware of the other’s sworn loyalty. He very distinctly recalls the threats he gave the other, too. Even so, Hongjoong finds himself surprised that the other fought those who he would have bowed to just weeks earlier. He did so unapologetically.

Why?

Hongjoong expected the other to be disenchanted, but to turn a gun on the very ranks he had worked so hard to join is something else entirely. What’s going on inside of his head? If he did turn coat on ATEEZ’s crew, would he just as easily turn a weapon on them? Would he hesitate to betray them if something nicer, shinier, better presented itself?

The captain decides to stop his train of thought. He doesn’t have the spare mental capacity to wonder about the ex-blackcoat. Yeosang sits in a corner and dozes near him while Wooyoung and Yunho play rock paper scissors in an effort to maintain high spirits. Jongho leans heavily against the container door, half-dozing off.

“Jongho, your arm-” Hongjoong gasps. He’d nearly forgotten.

“Huh?” The youngest rouses, raising his brows. “Oh, yeah. Um. Should I wipe this off? I should wipe this off.”

“Uh- Here,” Hongjoong impulsively tosses the worn denim he’d been wearing to Jongho. “You can cover it in blood, I don’t care.”

Jongho grins amusedly, taking the denim and wiping his arm roughly. He winces as the coarse fabric drags across his skin. The red has already sunk into it, making his entire arm appear angry, but at least it’s not just left to coagulate. Hongjoong steps toward the other and squints when he notices some strangely dark blood pooling in a single spot.

“Is that…? Fuck.”

“Hm?” Jongho hums.

“Your arm- Jongho! That’s- Is that a bullet?!” The captain’s panic - which had just barely started coming down - spikes again.

The brunette follows the captain’s gaze. He leans over and sniffs the damn thing. After a moment’s contemplation, he comes to some type of conclusion and nods.

“So it is,” Jongho answers.

“Wha- Are you alright?! Oh my god.”

“Shit.” “Jongho?” “Are you okay?” The others start to take notice. A few of them stand up from their seats to come over.

“Well it hurts like a bitch.”

“Oh my god. You- You must be in shock. Are you okay?”

“It sucks less than being stunned, to be honest,” Jongho fingers at the metal pellet.

“What?!” “No-!” “Oh my god do not do that!” A few others yelp.

“Wha- It’s fine!” Jongho insists. Much to everyone’s horror, he grips the bullet between his thumb and forefinger. Gingerly, he withdraws the metal piece, bringing it close for observation. The bullet appears to be in one piece, but that does little to assuage Hongjoong’s concerns. He’s heard that ballistics have a tendency to splinter. “Would you look at that? See? Superficial.” He gestures to the bloodied welt left in the bullet’s absence.

“What the… Fuck? N-No. That’s not how it works.”

“It probably just grazed me.”

“It did not just graze you that thing is- it’s-” Flattened. The bullet looks like it had flattened, coming in contact with some hard surface. That cannot be right. Hongjoong wonders if they’d been equipped with special bullets or something. In his (admittedly limited) experience, he’d never seen a metal bullet do that. At least, not when in contact with a human.

Thinking back on it, though, his one close encounter with a bullet wound happened to be Seonghwa’s. It was bleeding profusely and the fucker nearly passed out. He could hardly walk - let alone make lighthearted banter.

“It’s fine,” Yeosang pipes up. Hongjoong’s jaw drops. He’s ready to scold the cyborg, but then Yeosang follows his statement up. “I’m on x-ray vision and… There doesn’t appear to be anything else. “It… Didn’t come into contact with bone.” Even he sounds confused, which supports Hongjoong’s theory that it was probably a weird gun. Though it utterly baffles him, he can only be grateful for the Coalition’s strange tech and protocols. They got out okay this time. That’s what matters.

“Look- At least- Why don’t you sit down?” Hongjoong gestures toward the wall.

“I’m fine, really. Kinda sleepy, but- whoa, okay.” Jongho chuckles as the captain drags him off of the container.

_ “Brrrrrrrrr…” _

“What the  _ shit  _ was that?” The captain’s eyes blow wide open.

_ “Brrrrrr….creaaaaaaaaaaakkkk….” _

“Uh- If I’m not mistaken, that sounds like the container,” Jongho mutters.

_ “Creaaaaaaaaaaaaa-” _

The metal hinges groan loudly. Without the weight of Jongho - and with the addition of the train’s vibrations - the compromised structure begins to waver. The front door of the container starts to lean ever so slowly, its hingings stretching and warping.

“Shit- Move back! Back! Everyone get away!” Hongjoong barks. Those within the line of fire do so with haste. They all scuttle to the back of the car and watch in horror as the container’s outer-door gives. 

“Oh shit.” “I wonder what’s in there.” “Do you think that’s dangerous?” “What if it’s a biohazard!” “Ow! It’s loud!”  _ “Creaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-” _

Worried murmurs echo across the crew as the door slowly lowers, skewing to one side.

_ “Creaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak- thud! Thud!” _

Finally unable to take the strain on it’s compromised joints any longer, the container sheds the door. The massive hunk of metal falls forward with a thunderous boom. It does so with such force that it makes the entire car shake, sending vibrations up everyone’s legs and making them wobble. 

They all remain glued in place, a mix of anticipation and utter horror. In spite of their desires, they were going to find out: what’s in the box?

  
Hongjoong’s heartrate hastens. Due to recent events, uncertainty only inclines him to fill the blanks in with worst case scenarios. He can imagine all manner of bioweapons, airborne pollutants or noxious drugs lurking in the dark crevices of the container. Part of him would love to see a pallet of Venusian wine right then and there. Inoffensive and illicit, it would make for an impressive trick of fate. However, the crew did not receive such good fortune.

The captain squints, trying to make out what’s inside the container. There are… Shapes. They’re lumps. More oblong. Tall-ish. Not uniform. Furniture? Art? Sculptures? No. They’re moving. They’re moving.

“ _ Oh my god _ ,” Yunho mutters, stepping forward.

“Wait-!” “Yunho, no!” A few reach out to the canis, but it’s too late. Yunho walks over the felled container door and stands at the threshold. He grips the edge of the opening in a white-knuckled vice. His tail sags between his legs.

Prettyboy is next. He slowly follows in the other’s steps. Upon getting closer, he gasps and takes a step back.

Then, Hongjoong hears it. Piercing the murmur of the train and the whistling of the wind through the half-assedly shut hatch, it’s sharp and completely undeniable. Universally recognizable, there’s no mistaking it.

A baby’s cry.

The entire crew winces.

Hongjoong’s heart drops.

Then, there’s the murmurs. Hushed conversation trickles out from the container’s opening. No longer able to contain his curiosity, the captain steps forward to see what’s inside - or, more properly, to confirm his suspicions.

  
He doesn’t get far. Before he can reach, there’s a hand closed around his collar, and he’s shoved into the corner of the container roughly. Hongjoong winces at the sharp edge driving into his back.

“You’ve got some fucking explaining to do,  _ Captain _ ,” The blond bears over him darkly. Joong notices few of the other crew members shuffle closer in his peripheral vision. His disturbingly bright eyes are wet, and his jaw is locked, tense. “Is this the kind of work you do?”

Hongjoong falls silent. He has no answer.

“Is this the kind of fucking work you do?!” Seonghwa’s shout is so loud it makes the captain’s ears ring. The baby cries again, and a few others sniffle softly with it.

“Wait!” Yunho holds a hand out, stepping into the container.

“Hold on,” Wooyoung steps forward as well.

“Wait,  _ what _ ?!” The blond snarls. He knocks Hongjoong into the container again. The metal hits the back of his skull, bringing tears to his eyes. He doesn’t bother disputing it or fighting it. He very well could, but he doesn’t want to. He can’t justify it.

“Just wait!” Yunho barks louder. He turns again to the innards of the container and speaks softly. “You can come out now, we’re not going to hurt you.”

From his vantage, Hongjoong can see the dark shapes in the side of his vision. They turn to one another, soft whispers abound.

“It’s okay,” Yunho says. “Really, it’s fine.”

Finally, from within the container, someone steps forward and speaks.

“We can’t. We need to stay here,” A young woman’s voice emerges, shaky and timid.

Seonghwa drops Hongjoong unceremoniously and turns to the girl, “I can assure you that you have our confidence. We would never give you up to the bastards who did this to you.”

Hongjoong coughs, trying to catch his breath. He finally gets a good look at what they’d gotten themselves into. Or, perhaps who is a better way to put it. The humefeli cluster together closely, clinging to one another. The youngest is, of course, the fussing infant, and the oldest appears downright elderly, face etched with wrinkles telling decades of history.

Yunho rolls his eyes, “They’re a family.”

“I’m sorry? Are- are you of all people defending this?” The blond balks.

“Don’t you get it?”

“W-Will we still get to the station on time?” The young girl pipes up. She can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. She clings to her tail, wringing her hands along the puffed up fur.

“I- What is…?” Seonghwa’s face wrinkles with confusion.

“They’re not being trafficked, genius,” Wooyoung cuts in. “They’re being transported.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“It’s not.” “No, it’s not.” Both Wooyoung and Yunho answer bluntly at the same time. The two exchange looks before Woo defers to Yunho to explain.

“Listen, they’re- you’re obviously all a family, right?” Yunho asks. The felis all nod, still too nervous to emerge from their holding.

“And?” Seonghwa throws his hands up.

“You really think a trafficker’s gonna bother lugging along grandma - no offense, Miss - to sell?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m not a damn trafficker-”

“The answer is no. Traffickers go for young, unbonded hybrids. They don’t go for anyone past menopause or viable mating age. They off anyone who’s sick or got preexisting conditions- really anything that compromises their ability to be…” Yunho’s voice gets small, “Good servants.” He coughs awkwardly. “Anyway- They’ve got the same coat pattern, and they all smell the same.”

“What does that-?”

“They’re a family. And I’m guessing they’re...” He turns to them, “They’re trying to go somewhere better. Is that right? Please, correct me if I’m wrong. I’ll go back to letting him punch the captain.”

Yet again, they’re hesitant to speak. It’s the brave young girl who answers again, but she answers with a question.

  
“Wh-Who are you people? What is it to you?”

Finally, another steps forward, into the light. An older gentleman - presumably a parent.

“Dora, that’s enough, let me,” He says hushedly to the girl. The man gives the crew a long, discerning lookover, “We’ll tell us about ourselves if you tell us about yourselves.”

“I can answer that,” Hongjoong steps forward. His insides broil with embarrassment, anxiety and nerves, but he swallows them down. He’s the captain. He’ll speak on their behalf. “I’m Captain Kim Hongjoong of ATEEZ. We’re a freelancing vessel with the ultimate goal of hunting Treasure. We were tasked with protecting you on your journey to the next destination. As I’m sure you heard, there were some… Complications.” The assured confidence with which he addresses them impresses even the captain himself.

“I see,” The older gentleman says. Things get quiet and awkward for a few moments while he processes the information. He turns back to his family and has some sort of nonverbal conversation with them. He answers, “Well, I suppose it would be fruitless to lie if you were Coalition, we’re trapped, aren’t we?”

“But we’re not-”

“I know. I- I believe you. Never seen anyone who looks like him-” The man nods to Yunho, “-in their ranks.”

“I’m glad you believe us. Please, relax. You can stretch your legs a bit if you want. We’re still en route, but I don’t see why you have to say cooped up in there.”

The man thanks the captain before waving his family out. They’re hesitant at first, but one by one the felis file out. Just as Yunho had observed, they all have the same coat pattern - dark black speckled with coppery browns and whites. It’s not just their tails, though, it’s their facial features, too. They all share the same high cheekbones and almond eyes. The man’s wife - very clearly expecting - carries the infant on her hip. They have their daughter, another young child and two grandmothers.

Hongjoong does his best to greet them kindly and drum up conversation. His anxiety remains on high drive for most of the trip, but the more he talks to the feli family, the less he feels. He informs the older people of their Coalition encounter and assures them that the blackcoats were disposed of - he doesn’t give them any gory details. They regale their stories of the trail they’d been taking, having already hopped two planets from their home planet. Their destination is a quiet colony which they don’t specify.

  
After being pressed, Wooyoung admits he’s known his job contacts to be handlers in the past. He genuinely had no idea what the “cargo” was, but it wasn’t a complete surprise when he realized it. The blond expressed shock and disbelief at their ordeal which, thankfully, the family took in stride. 

“There has to be a better way,” He mutters as they talk about being hidden in superficial walls and walking paths based on monitoring camera blind spots. The felis - the Beytrax family - tell tales of where they came from. For a time, things seemed good for them, but they say things got worse.

“No,” They tell him with wry smiles and sad eyes. “There isn’t a better way.”

It takes him a bit to be fully convinced they’re there of their own volition. Eventually, that point gets hammered home, and he gets quiet for a little bit. Very, very quiet.

Though underlined by nervousness, the Beytrax family makes the ride go faster. ATEEZ’s crew does their best to clean up, to leave little to no trace of their presence. There are a few things that can’t be helped - the haphazardly shut ceiling hatch, the bloodstains between the grates - but they do their best. In spite of the slow down, Hongjoong knows he’s not completely recovered from everything. San sure as hell hasn’t. Yeosang says he doesn’t see anything concerning in his x-rays, but the siren stays out the entire time. 

It’ll take a while for everyone to come down from everything. Hongjoong just knows that the second he hits the mattress in the captain’s quarters, it’s lights out.

* * *

“Oh, do you have to go?” Prettyboy dotes in a pouty voice.

Hongjoong’s fairly certain he’s gonna be sick. After thawing with the Beytraxes, an entirely new, equally irritating facet of Prettyboy has come to light. He didn’t think it was possible for the other to nauseate him more. Now, he’s nostalgic for the pre-train-hell days of knowing the blond as just a pompous, condescending asshole with a stick up his ass. It’s better than…

“You can just stay with me,” The blond dotes, bouncing the feli baby (Mose is their name) in his lap. He makes kissy lips at the infant and coos, “You would be the cutest little adventurer.” The baby coos, tiny tail swishing cutely. 

If only that baby  _ knew  _ the man Park Seonghwa truly was. They wouldn’t be giggling all giddy like while the weirdo smothers them in kisses for the ten billionth time. Hongjoong is pretty sure that’s bad for a child’s development. External over-affection - it sounds like something bad, right?

Hongjoong could imagine Yunho with kids. Wooyoung would probably be great with kids, too. The captain himself was sort of ambivalent. He didn’t hate them, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable. Of all people, though, Park Seongtwat was the last person in the galactic sector he would ever sleight for being so… So mushy.

His face flushes with delight, and a smile that Hongjoong has never seen - could never even imagine - on the other’s face blossoms across his features. The blond pokes the baby’s chubby stomach with his finger, making nonsensical sounds and singing little songs. At one point on the ride Seonghwa made a game of tossing little Mose, then rocking Mose, and when the infant fell asleep on him, he nearly died of pleasure. 

If only he  _ did  _ die.

Hongjoong was hoping the baby would at least, like, throw up on the blond or something. But no, somehow the tiny feli totally reciprocated the love heaped onto them. Damn.

“What do you think?” Prettyboy asks in a gag-enducing little voice.

“Blondie, give them their baby back,” The captain demands. 

“I wasn’t talking to you!” The other snaps back, all mirth completely gone. Tima, the teenage daughter, giggles as she wrests her baby sibling from the clingy blond.

The trip went well in lieu of the near-damning catastrophic disaster, and - thank all deities that exist - their destination was another AI yard. The sun still is far from risen when they arrive, so there aren’t even a lot of maintenance workers present. The one that is present just so happens to be their contact and the Beytrax’s handler.

“Come on!” The handler calls from outside the railcar. The rest of the feli family is already filing away, leaving the two kids as stragglers. “Time table’s tight!”

Tima - and the rest of them - bid a quick farewell before scurrying into the maintenance building, already heading toward the next leg of their route. It could very well be another automated train. It could be an airship or a hovercar or just plain old public transit, hiding in plain sight. It’s none of their business where they go or how they get there, but Hongjoong sure hopes that they get there safe.

He tries not to dwell on everything that happened on the train. Not yet, at least. He knows when his head hits the pillow, in the brief moments before passing out, it’ll all hit him. He wants to wait until then, though. He can’t bear the thought of losing it in front of his crew. He doesn’t want to think about how the blackcoat bastards were ordered to blindly  _ terminate _ , doesn’t want to wonder if that’s how the Jeongs ended up on his planet and in his home.

Wooyoung handles the exchange of cash, and as he counts the bills, Hongjoong’s overcome with a sudden idea.

“Wait!” The captain rushes over to the handler and his first mate. 

“What’s up, captain?” Wooyoung asks, brows raised in surprise.

“Um, just a second I-” Joong murmurs to himself, doing quick math in his head. “Twelve-fifty! Wait- Eleven-eleven!”

“Huh?”

“Give me-” Joong takes the bills and counts them out. “Here, give this to the family.”

“Wh-?”

“My share. Just my share,” Hongjoong clarifies to the other. “They need it more than we do.”

The handler’s brows raise incredulously. After seeing how serious Hongjoong is, they take it, slipping it into their sleeve discreetly. They tip their floppy cap and walk off without another word. The next move for ATEEZ’s crew is to reboard the train on which they came. It’s due to return to the same maintenance yard they came from, but the AI has it leaving in minutes. 

“Isn’t that a little patronizing?” Wooyoung asks. “They didn’t ask for your charity.”

“Pride or not, one-thousand untraceable paper credits can do a family good. They’ve got a baby on the way, fuck’s sake.”

“Well- Now you’re making everyone else look like an asshole,” Woo grumbles, eyeing the bills sadly.

“Don’t. It’d be harmful for them to walk around with too much cash, anyway, but- I just- I dunno-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a saint with a soft spot for strays and runaways. I get it.”

“Why does it sound like a bad thing when it’s coming from your mouth?” Hongjoong chuckles.

  
“It’s not a bad thing, but…”

“But?”

“Well, it sure gets us in a hell of a lot of trouble, doesn’t it?”

“Need I remind you: you are technically one of the ‘strays and runaways’ of whom I am a patron?”

“Exactly, captain. Exactly.”

The two laugh as they board the train yet again. When the door shuts behind them, Hongjoong can’t help feel slightly paranoid. What if the blackcoats come again?

“What took you so long?” Yunho asks.

“Saint Hongjoong over here had to be charitable and shit,” Wooyoung claps the captain on the shoulder. “Gave the felis his share.”

“Aww, that’s so nice.”

“Yeah, well,” Hongjoong scratches his nape sheepishly. “Figured they have more important stuff to use for. Babies and all that.”

“I’m a baby, too!” Mingi jokes (earning him an elbow in the ribs from Jongho). 

“Well, sorry, Mingi. One does not just come by a thousand credits easily.”

“Wait-” Yunho gasps, and his tail starts wagging. “What if I told you that you could?”

* * *

Hongjoong doesn’t know why he agreed to this.

He’s starting to doubt himself. Why does he trust his crew so damn much? Sure, Wooyoung, well he can be a bit sketchy. He lived on the fringes of society for a while. But Yunho? Yunho is loyal and good and trustworthy. _Of course_ , Hongjoong would trust him. He would never expect Yunho to betray him. Yet, there he stands, feeling very much that: betrayed. Utterly betrayed. All because he foolishly placed trust in his best friend.

“Note the extraordinary shoulder to waist ratio of our Venusian guest,” The college professor drones, lurking behind his diligently drawing students. “Now, you may be tempted to skew his proportions toward convention, but note: your goal is to depict your subject to the best of your ability. Not to depict convention!” 

It’s cold. Very, very cold. The little pedestal Hongjoong got sat on is  _ cold _ , the air current cooling the room is  _ cold,  _ the tile floor against his bare feet is  _ cold  _ \- everything is  _ cold _ . The captain, half-delirious from exhaustion, reminds himself of that when he catches sight of someone’s  _ anatomically ungracious _ depiction of him. He tries to school his face into a calm expression, but it’s so damn hard. These college kids think they’re hot shit, just voyeuristically staring at naked people then having the gall to do them artistic injustice!

Hongjoong decides that he does have regrets. Posing for an art class seemed like a quick, easy job to do - one he didn’t think he’d need to sleep before doing. They caught some sleep on the train, after all. The others agreed (save for Yeosang who vehemently refused). If only they all were sensible like Yeosang.

“-mind the light and shadow under these- these strange creases,” The teacher gestures toward San. Hongjoong suppresses the urge to correct the guy. He figures it’s better not to advertise having a siren in their crew. If anybody happens to realize that sirens are real and a thing, it could cause trouble.

  
San chose a rather challenging pose, one arm folded behind his head while the other hangs down. He wears it well, though. Of course, he wears everything well. He’s gorgeous. Hongjoong bets that nobody’s doing him artistic injustice. Thorny jealousy pikes the captain’s chest, and that’s how he  _ knows  _ the lack of rest is kicking. He’s starting to get cranky.

Not wanting to fester in negativity too long, Hongjoong tries to find another landing spot for his gaze. He sweeps across his crew, silently assessing each one of them. Yunho strains to keep his tail still. He stands up in a simple pose with his hands clasped in front of himself. Mingi is the picture of pride, one hand on his hip while the other hangs down by his side, head upturned just ever so slightly to accentuate his profile. Very prideful. Very open. Very shameless. Very Mingi.

Wooyoung perched himself on one of the pedestals with one leg bent and butterflied open while he leans on his hands. While the pose itself is bad on its own, the fact that he’s making faces at one of the students is  _ not  _ helping. Hongjoong prays that San doesn’t notice because, while they’re in better standing, sometimes he still worries that the siren will strangle Woo. Jongho is unsurprisingly conservative. He looks totally zoned out, sitting on a pedestal with his hands clasped in his lap. 

Hongjoong tries to avoid looking at the platinum blond. He doesn’t want to, but it happens accidentally - another regret of his. There he sits, Prettyboy Park himself, one leg up on a long pedestal while the other hangs down, back straight, eyes forward. Unsurprisingly, he is an exemplary model - perfectly still, statuesque and calm. It would’ve been a good career for him, Hongjoong thinks. Something that requires very little personality seems like it would suit him, given that he has the personality of a yeast infection. The captain is grateful that the guy’s pose prevents him from an accidental crotch peek. He’s pretty sure that would scar him for life, and he’s got enough baggage as is. Though he does catch a tidbit of something in spite of himself.

The captain squeezes his eyes shut, and humiliated devastation smacks him straight across the face, causing him to flush. 

So the curtains do not match the carpet.

  
The captain files that under: “things I really wish I did not know”.

“Can you please open your eyes?” The professor asks.

“S-sorry,” Joong mutters when he realizes the question had been directed toward him. He pries them open and tries to calm himself down again. It’s just posing. It’s just the human body.

Unintentionally, his eyes fall upon the platinum blond once again. They zero in on the one flaw the man has. A blotch of skin on his upper arm, shiny and discolored, stretched across what used to be a bullet wound. Hongjoong wonders: does it still hurt? Something makes him shudder, and he realizes it’s the other’s eyes on him.

That’s when the second worst thing to happen in the past twenty-four hours occurs.

  
They make eye contact.

Their gazes tangle and the mutual devastation makes it so neither can effectively disentangle - or even wobble their eyes slightly. Hongjoong doesn’t know if it’s an intentional battle of wills or a nonverbal game of “no, you go through the door first”. Whatever it is, it’s excruciatingly awkward and he hates it so, so very much. His face lights up like a lantern, and the other’s cheeks flush, too.

After far too long, they both manage to tear their eyes away at about the same time. Hongjoong already knows that with the separation of their mutual gazes comes a pact:

To never speak of the occurrence again.

* * *

Busy flashes dance in front of Hongjoong’s vision. They are present yet unobtainable. He reaches out but he cannot grasp. They slip through his fingers. He does not know what they are or what they mean. They feel… silky, liquid. So fine they toe the line between tangible and faint whisperings, a hint of a thing. Something. But what?

What are they?

What are these things?

They drift in space, swimming past him though they are not autonomous. He considers maybe it is he who is swimming. He drifts with no destination, no knowledge.

He is lost, searching, desperate. He sees himself reaching out, desperate to grasp it, to hold onto these drifting tendrils, these strange silvers, morsels of somethings that he cannot name. Barely perceptible, completely and thoroughly enigmatic they slip past his grasp, uncaring of his desperation, of his needs. Of their needs.

He imagines that there is a time and a place and a space in which he knows what these are. But the him that is despondently clawing at them is not that man. Nor is the one floating. 

He feels lightheaded and begins to rise, up, up, up until they all disappear in the distance, up, up…

Hongjoong wakes up with a start. His heart feels heavy like it’d been tethered to weights and dragged down. The captain clasps at it as his brain sluggishly tries to catch up with his awoken body. Upon returning to ATEEZ, Yunho put the ship into a slow cruise before they all passed out. They couldn’t even muster the energy to have a meal. 

Still, that doesn’t explain the empty hollowed out in his gut. It’s a different kind of void.

“Bad dream,” Hongjoong croaks out sleepily. He coughs in pain. His throat feels like someone had taken sandpaper to it. 

  
Water. He needs water.

The captain gladly gets up. Though his body aches from the calamity of their mission, he’s happy to take the short walk to the kitchen. He often finds those simple actions - getting up, walking, drinking water - the most grounding. Singleminded and easy to accomplish, they do wonders for tethering in his wandering mind sometimes.

Hongjoong slips his feet into the oversized slippers he bought on Venus and shuffles down to the kitchen at a sluggish pace. He squints, eyes stinging when he takes in the light of the kitchen. The captain strolls over sleepily.

His brows raise in surprise when he finds someone else already sitting at the table, clasping an empty glass.

“J...Jongho?” Hongjoong mutters as dims the kitchen lights. “What’re you doing up? What- What time is it?”

Jongho shrugs. He grips his glass more tightly. He does not move.

Hongjoong frowns. He gets a glass of water for himself, but instead of going back to his room, he leans over the galley island.

“Jongho, is something the matter?”

“No, it’s fine,” The other answers quietly, gaze fixed on his glass.

The captain purses his lips with displeasure. He turns back to the prep PC and navigates the projected menu until he finds the option he wants. He gives it a tap and waits.

“Do you normally stare at empty glasses when you’re fine?” Hongjoong ventures. Jongho’s frown deepens. “Was it… The train ride? Is your arm hurting?”

“No- It’s not that.”

“Was it… The posing naked? Did you get traumatized by someone’s junk?” Joong ventures a joke.

That gets a tiny courtesy chuckle from Jongo. He shakes his head. The prep PC beeps, indicating the steamy beverage Hongjoong ordered is done. He grabs the prepared mug and takes another from the shelves nearby, pouring half of the steaming contents into the other.

“Jongho,” Hongjoong says, sitting down across from the other. “You are strong. You are strong as shit- and not just physically. You’re strong physically, mentally- you’re a rock. You’re basically our rock.”

“Wouldn’t that be you?” Jongho asks in a small voice.

“No. No, it’s not. I may be the leader, but I’m also volatile and- and emotional and I trust too easily and- that’s not the point. What I was getting at was that- that talking about what’s bothering you will not compromise your strength. It will never compromise your strength. You don’t have to keep everything in. Sharing these things isn’t going to change who you are to us. You are strong, and, shit if sometimes you’re not the strongest guy in the room, that’s okay, too. Just, please. I don’t need your life story, just- just talk to someone.”

Jongho considers Hongjoong for a moment. He fiddles with his glass wordlessly until finally breaking the silence with a shaky sigh.

He starts out calmly, “It’s just that the university-” He stops. 

His face contorts, overtaken by a despaired grimace. It straightens itself for a second before warping again. Emotions he’d kept dammed up starts surfacing, and he struggles to control it.

“The university-” He tries again, but his face does that thing. The sadness takes over, wetting his eyes and squashing his features into their genuinely sad shape.

“The university…” Jongho’s voice gets thicker, and Hongjoong’s heart drops. He’s never seen the youngest like this before. Ever. He watches in attentive silence, leaving things open for the other to speak.

“The university,” His voice is so small, so fragile and shaky, as he speaks, “Going to the- the university. It…” He clasps his fists, stubbornly fighting a sob. “Going to the university reminded me of all the things I’d lost.” His eyes finally meet Hongjoong’s, and he loses it. 

Jongho smothers his face with his hands and lets out quiet sob after sob. His entire body shakes, and tears stream down his cheeks. Hongjoong frowns, silently sliding the other mug to their beloved youngest.

Jongho doesn’t have to elaborate any further. Hongjoong can paint an adequate picture. Jongho is a bright person. He probably had a bright future, but for some reason, it got taken from him. Being surrounded by academia - by all of the people who achieved things he aspired to, the students living the life he’d worked toward - must have been devastating. Jongho lost a lot. He lost parents, loved ones, safety and a promising future. He has every right to be upset, and honestly Hongjoong is shocked it’s taken this long for him to break down.

Jongho sniffles and blinks tears out of his eyes. After roughly wiping the tears away, he notices the mug sitting in front of him. He takes it timidly, giving it a tentative sniff.

“It’s just cocoa, okay,” Hongjoong chuckles softly. “Not booze. You don’t need a depressant right now. Hey- Don’t look so disappointed.”

That gets a faint chuckle from the other, “Thanks.”

“Cheers.” Their mugs tap together with a soft “clack”, adn they both take a sip. Hongjoong knows he’s in need of hydration, but something about the way the sweet, chocolatey, comforting drink coats his throat hits _ just right. _

“Oh my god,” Jongho murmurs. “I haven’t had cocoa in… In so long.”

“Same, actually.”

“It’s so good. Bad, but good.”

“Yeah I, um- it’s just always been a comfort drink for me, so. Spreading the comfort.”

Jongho gives him a smile. It’s weak but genuine which makes the captain’s heart lift a little bit.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks for sharing. I know you’re not exactly an open book.”

“I’m not, I guess. Just not very comfortable with all of that.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be. As long as you don’t bottle it up and let it fester for too long.”

“Yeah, yeah. Duly noted.”

“You’ve heard this talk before, haven’t you?” Hongjoong chuckles.

“You are not the first person that has tried to penetrate this fortress.”

“Hm. Penetrate-”

“That sounded better in my head.”

The two laugh at that. They lapse into a comfortable silence, enjoying one another’s company while sipping on the very artificial yet somehow fantastic Coalition issued cocoa. When Hongjoong is close to the bottom of his mug, Jongho speaks yet again.

“Thanks, again,” He slides the now empty mug over.

“Any time. Don’t let my hardened criminal image fool you. I do care.”

“Heh. Yeah. I’m gonna go back to sleep, I think.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll down some water and do the same.”

“Can I… Can I tell you something, captain?”

Hongjoong’s brows raise with interest, “Anything.”

“I… I’m glad it was you.”

“Glad what was me?”

“I’m just- thank god it was you who found me and not someone else.”

“Oh. Why do you say that?”

“Because anyone else would’ve tried to fucking hug me or some shit.”

Hongjoong snorts, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.” While he can be affectionate, he certainly isn’t the most handsy. Just about anyone pales in comparison to the likes of Wooyoung, San, and Mingi in terms of skinship.

“Thank you for being you. And keeping your hands to yourself. Good night.”

“Good night, Jongho.” Hongjoong gives the other a smile and a wave as he leaves.

He wonders if one day they’ll ever get the full story on Choi Jongho. But, if they don’t, that’s okay, too. Hongjoong just hopes that Jongho can find happiness on ATEEZ. He hopes that all of them can. 

Every single one.

**Author's Note:**

> // per usual BIG thank to my lovely beta Rose_Piano (♡°▽°♡)
> 
> NOTE i thiiiink im gna add tags as this work is updated ;)
> 
> thank u to everyone who has been patient and i really hope you are all safe whether you're working or staying at home. THANK U. LOVE U.
> 
> me --> (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡ <\-- yall


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